Fish Tails

by Sheri S. Tepper

  Grandma had intended leaving Willum with the Oracles, safe from danger. Needly had insisted that Willum be returned to Wide Mountain. Even though some of them might now be making a side trip to the south, they would soon return to Wide Mountain, so Willum could as well be taken there with those who were returning. Meantime, she soothingly offered the suggestion that the Oracles undoubtedly had ways of letting Grandma know if they came up with a solution to Willum’s condition.

  Grandma agreed without argument. How could she not? She was spending a good part of each day regretting those decades of unquestioning trust. Had it been for a good cause? How would she know? She had started to ask the Oracles, several times, about her children, and had found her words blocked. They had not been evasive, they had been . . . deaf. As though they had not heard her. Now she felt foolish, resentful, and unanchored. Since so much of her life had been lived presumably at their direction, nothing of her plans or hopes seemed secure. No event in her life seemed as useful as she had . . . assumed.

  She was beginning to obsess over details, things that had never bothered her before: the fact that she had never really penetrated into the “House” of the Oracles; the fact that she knew none of the Oracles as persons, as friends; the fact that their beneficence had been assumed on her part more than demonstrated on theirs. Oh, they had told her stories of their wanderings, planets they had visited, but they were strangely nonsequential. Scattered. Almost . . . random. She had not blamed them for the lack of clarity. She had blamed herself . . .

  Abasio was asking, “How far is it down to the place this whatever-­it-­is happened?”

  Deer Runner replied, “Cow’s Bottom Bluff is where it happened. That’s a marker for Artemisia, ’Basio. It’s the southwest corner of our territory. We put a corner marker there way back, some hundreds of years. Black Buffalo’s one of the border riders, and he’s the one who brought word of it. He didn’t ride out right when it happened; he took a day or so to ride around the area, see how far the water went, spy out where those Edgers were. He did it without bein’ seen. They have weapons, according to Buffalo, and he didn’t trust them not to shoot. Then he had a long ride northeast to get to Wide Mountain.

  “Since it was full moon last night, we started out directly. Would have taken a lot longer if we hadn’t run those poor horses half to death soon as the sun came up. From Wide Mountain to here’s brought us a good way south already. So, from here, it shouldn’t be more’n a day along the river, almost directly south. I brought Talking Crow and Big Beaver along. They both know the river route and it’s been marked for wagons. We can make it with only a few jigger-­jogs where the little canyons feed in from the east.”

  Grandma soon returned with Precious Wind and Xulai, all of them ready to depart. Two of the Oracles—­two extremely large ones that they had not seen before—­had followed the three humans without being noticed. Now one of them said, “Let us provide you with some . . . comforts. We have this . . . very nice portable camp that you can put quite near where you will be. If you will take this . . . ?”

  “This” was a crystal cube about a hand’s width on an edge. The Oracle put it into Grandma’s hands. “When you get near, find a place that seems appropriate, speak to it saying you would like to have the camp there, and it will establish itself. It provides whatever you need if you tell it. We wish to see the thing these Edger beings are building also, so take the cube with you when you go closer to observe. It too will see and listen for us.”

  “You can see it from here?”

  “It will send the image here. We can.” They turned to Xulai and Abasio, who were holding the babies beside their wagon. “You,” said one of them. “We understand you become like the creature we have asked edubot to picture for us: the octopus. You are first generation, is that correct?”

  Xulai and Abasio both nodded, it was correct. The Oracles bowed very slightly and returned to their House. Cave! Needly said to herself. She had renamed the place. A den, maybe. A lair. So far as she was concerned, it was not a house. And what were these large ones doing? Grandma had seemed as surprised at them as everyone else, so she had not seen them before either. So far as Needly was concerned, “oracle” was merely a misleading word. Perhaps even a kind of disguise. She had not said this to Grandma. Soon she might have to.

  “Supplies?” Abasio asked Deer Runner.

  “You had enough for the return journey, so you should have plenty to get where we’re going. Meantime, Wide Mountain Mother’s sending a supply wagon directly to Cow Bluff—­well, to a point far enough north of it the wagons won’t run into the Edgers. It’ll have enough supplies for all us ­people and horses to get back.”

  It was agreed the three weary horses would be given a full day’s rest and would go back to Wide Mountain tomorrow along with Talking Crow and half the original escort. The wagon containing Willum would go with them along with Arakny’s account of events so far, which she recited to Talking Crow for conveyance to Wide Mountain Mother. Talking Crow, it seemed, was named for having a memory that could hang on to lengthy, detailed accounts and recite them word for word.

  The other half of the escort group, along with Deer Runner and Beaver, would accompany Arakny on the trip to Cow’s Bottom Bluff today. The members of the escort decided among themselves which ones would go where, and less than an hour later the group headed south was on its way, food in hand as they went. Since they did not want a confrontation with Edgers who had invaded Artemisian territory, they rode with three outriders: one a mile ahead to the south, others the same distance southeast and southwest. The big river, which had always been named exactly that in whatever language was current . . . the “Big River” wandered deep in its canyon—­one that had preceded the river rather than having been eaten out by it—­as it meandered east or west as the underlying strata directed; Beaver’s rock piles along the trail were arranged to indicate both direction and distance to save travel time by cutting across from bend to bend, and there were occasional well-­established wagon tracks indicating that others had followed a suggested shortcut. A few very long diversions were marked with intermediate cairns indicating where changes of direction were needed to take them around the feeder arroyos constantly being shaped by rains and by spring melt from the surrounding hills.

  Shortly before noon, the southwest rider came in to guide them to a shallow bend with an easy access down one of those feeder canyons: an often-­used resting or overnighting point for circuit riders, messengers, and supply wagons. Horses and ­people went down, wagons stayed above. Fires were built and water boiled. ­People on private business went up two little side canyons helpfully labeled with chiseled arrows where Artemisians had built little sheds over deep cracks in the stone. Grandma was glad to find someone had provided seats without splinters, the only distraction being the pack-­rat nest in the corner. This particular pack rat was only a novice, and disposing of the nest required only a few minutes’ work with the shovel that Grandma asked one of the escort men to get out of a wagon for her. Grandma could remember nests that had taken a dozen men a week to dispose of. When old families of pack rats packed a nest for a hundred successive generations, they did a very solid, smelly, massive, poop-­n’-­pee-­cemented job of it. She had, on occasion, made some remarkable finds in pack-­rat nests. This one had a few items not yet cemented in—­a bracelet, a ring, a strangely shaped little key. She tucked them away in her pack to be displayed on the lost-­and-­found wall she had noticed along one side of the plaza at Wide Mountain.

  Needly observed this clearance with great interest. There were bones in the nest, and bits of glass and metal. In addition to the jewelry and the key, someone had lost a knife, several ­people had lost shoes, and in the last shovelful there was the very strange ring with a carved stone that Grandma put aside with the knife, asking Needly to remind her to soak it and clean it.

  “Why do they do that, Grandma? Collect all that stuff?”
>
  “Needly, I don’t think anyone knows why pack rats pack. Personally, I think they have an insatiable curiosity. Anything different, they have to collect it and look at it and smell it, and decide whether it’s edible or not. Especially shiny things. Or different-­looking things.”

  “But they poop and pee all over it!”

  “That’s how they demonstrate ownership. They don’t maintain anything or keep it safe or guard it. They don’t use it for anything, or even intend to. Just the getting and having is enough for them, and they get and have it all cemented together. It keeps other critters from robbing them. And when you’re in pack-­rat country, you don’t want to leave anything you value where they can get at it, especially if it’s shiny.”

  Horses lunched on a handful of oats, a wisp of hay; ­people ate sandwiches made early that morning along with cups of herb tea often used by riders to prevent dehydration and relieve saddle ache. They were back on the track in less than an hour.

  In midafternoon they saw Cow’s Bottom Bluff. The whole mountain was called the Cow, and it lay with its back to them, its head to the east with two rock formations making the horns. At this distance, it could be a cow, though the closer they got, the less cowlike it looked. The western end was the Cow’s Bottom. It was almost dusk when the south rider came in to report a forested area about half a mile ahead. “There’s a low area north of the lake where the river’s switched back and forth over the years. There’s probably water down just a few feet through the whole area, plenty, for the trees have grown up into quite a little forest. Cottonwoods, aspens, some pines, thick enough we won’t be seen from the place the Edgers have set up. The pond’s a good-­sized lake by now, and it’s still getting bigger. We went through the woods and had a look at it. Edger men have a camp set up a bit further south and east, beyond the dunes at that end. Their usual mess! All kinds a’ machines. Stinks of oil and fuel. Empty cans lyin’ around.” The rider, who had been schooled to leave a campsite looking as it did before anyone arrived on it, made a gesture of contempt. “The best campsite for us’ll be just up ahead, hidden in the trees.”

  Arakny rode ahead with the outrider and walked out to meet the others as they approached. “It does look like a good place. No sign that anybody’s been around here, no Edger mess. You want to check it out so we can use the camp-­creator thing?”

  The place was level and shaded. They spent a few moments walking through and around it to be sure no current four-­legged resident would be displaced, Arakny and Grandma exchanged a few words, then Grandma murmured to the glassy cube she had carried in a bag at her waist. They heard a vague tinkling sound as a door opened into the forest before them. The door hummed to itself. A beam of light came through it from somewhere to stroke the horses, the wagons. The door became larger. They drove the wagons inside. Grandma murmured to the device again. Another door opened into human quarters, a large room furnished with chairs, benches, tables, a kitchen along one wall with utensils hanging above shelves. A flight of stairs led to several dormitory rooms, with beds, and two large bathrooms—­multiple showers, basins, and toilet cubicles. When Abasio and Xulai came up, carrying the babies, another bedroom sprouted at the end of the hall, this one containing a large bed and two small cribs for babies.

  Seeing this, Abasio said, “How in . . . well, how could they pipe water in here?”

  Grandma murmured, “Wormhole, Abasio. This camp is only one of a number of gadgets the Oracles have . . . well . . .” She shook her head, determined to be truthful. “ . . . gadgets the Oracles claim they’ve made. After they gave us the gadget, I went back inside and used the library machine.” She flushed, remembering. It had seemed like a transgression to check up on them. And the result had made her angry at herself, as much as at the Oracles. “This camp gadget is listed along with its manufacturer, which is definitely not the Oracles. It seems, if I understand it correctly, the universe is full of tiny, squirmy, short-lived micro-­wormholes, and if you have the right technology, you can grab one, anchor one end of it in water—­a river, an ocean, or a subterranean aquifer—­and the other end almost anywhere. Or you can tie the ends of a wormhole together and put a camp inside, like this one, with one door to the nearest real-­space place. Clever, no? The information I read said there’s a galactic requirement to replace an equal amount of whatever substances are used up each time. It seems ­people who travel can make arrangements beforehand with a water bank or air bank or whatever they may be using.”

  “Galactic requirement, Grandma?”

  “That was what I read. There are evidently galactic officials that oversee certain aspects of interaction among worlds. Sometimes I get the impression the . . . the Oracles may not be . . . in compliance with some of the regulations.” She frowned. She had decided to be honest with herself and others. “Sometimes I think they don’t know much about the regulations!”

  “They prob’ly don’t and aren’t in compliance,” said Needly. “They give me a squirmy feeling, you know? Grandma. Like when you step on a snake, all unaware.”

  “Well, they do tend to be . . . evasive,” mused Grandma, as yet unwilling to disillusion either herself or Needly completely. “They do, but I always just put that down to their being strange, you know. In a strange world?”

  “They’re not a bit in a strange world,” argued Needly. “They never leave that cave they live in, and inside that cavern of theirs, wherever the part is where they actually live, I’ll bet it’s just like their home. Wherever their home is.”

  On the lower floor of the camp, the horses had been unhitched and the stable area had sprouted a water trough and two long mangers full of hay. Grandma said, “This device no doubt accessed some kind of database in order to identify horses and what horses need. Most of the species living in the galaxy are in the Oracle database. So they say. Billions of species of living things.”

  “Oracle database, Grandma?” Needly allowed herself to sound slightly chiding.

  “You know, I doubt it, Needly. I’m beginning to doubt my own name. My own face in a mirror.”

  Needly thought the database probably existed, but thought it unlikely that the name “Oracle” was attached to it in any way. Of course, as she admitted to herself, she was unlikely to give the Oracles credit for anything at all. They hadn’t helped Willum; she had been depending upon them to help Willum; so as far as she was concerned, they were useless. Being angry at them kept her from grieving, even though she knew she couldn’t stay furious forever.

  Someone sat down on a very comfortable chair, saying, “I wish we could see the area they’re working on from in here.” Immediately, to squeals of surprise, the living area produced several observation screens with code boxes below them. The screens could show any direction outside, close or at some distance. Arakny and Precious Wind began moving the view screens south, along the shore of the river-­that-­had-­become-­a-­lake. It was a considerable body of water, but the only evidence of Edger use lay along the short stretch of shoreline just over the low hill south of them. That sandy stretch, between the Cow’s rump and the widening lake, was messily cluttered with vehicle tracks, cans of fuel, and machines of one kind or another. Whoever had been here wasn’t orderly; whoever had been here was very probably coming back.

  ­“People,” said Arakny, beckoning for them to gather around. “Listen please. The Oracles have lent us this camp device. It comes with a menu and an explanation, if any of you are interested. Ask for it, and it appears on the nearest wall in whatever language you’ve used. It’s a self-­contained wormhole that bends space around us. When we’re in here we’re invisible and we can’t be heard. I’m setting a code word, which is my name followed by Needly’s name separated by ‘oops.’ Arakny-­oops-­Needly. It’s not something anyone is likely to say by accident. If you are outside fairly close to this location, you can say the code word and the door will open for you. I don’t know exactly how close you need to be, s
o find landmarks you can rely on before you wander off. The door from outside opens into the stable, and it makes sense to leave it that way. If anyone besides us happens into this area, they will walk right through the area without noticing us. We are, so to speak, removed from the space. You will need to check the surroundings before going out; be sure to use one of those surveillance screens to be sure there’s no trespassers out there before you open the door.

  “Will someone please volunteer for horse maintenance? Beaver, thank you, pick someone to help you. Decide tomorrow whether you want the horses loafing in here all day or want to take them somewhere else. We passed some bits of pasture right along the river within a mile of here that might keep them happy, but we may need to leave in a hurry, so do not plan to put them very far. Do not unpack the wagons. Take what you need from them and put things back after use, so we’re ready to leave at any time. Don’t scatter your personal stuff around, keep your pack ready to go. The code for emergency departure is our usual one.

  “A few of us are going out in a moment to look over the territory. We’ll take a close look at that construction site while there’s nobody there. We can’t tell from in here whether something important may be hidden behind something else, so the screens in here can’t see it. Once we get a better idea of the layout and what’s going on, maybe we can rely on the screens.

  ”Now listen carefully: We do not want to make any contact with the Edgers, assuming that’s who made the mess out there. We do not want them to be aware we know about this place. Nonetheless, we want to get all information about what they’re doing here that we can, so regard this as an F and O mission . . . oh, for our guests, that’s ‘Follow and Observe.’ If we need to leave in a hurry, we’ll go straight back to Wide Mountain Plaza, so if any of you are tracking anyone or sitting up on the mountain observing their camp, wherever it is, be sure you’re carrying whatever you need in the way of food and water to get home if you get stranded. The best rule is, do not leave this place without three days’ food and water and a pack of sanitary leaves. If we do cut out of here in a hurry, and if we’re not being pursued, we’ll stop a mile or so east on the Wide Mountain track and find out whether we’re missing anyone. If we are, we’ll leave someone there with provisions and a horse for each missing person. I repeat, that’ll be a mile or two along the track back to Wide Mountain. If you’re finding out something important, stay with it; someone’ll be waiting for you along the trail. If we are pursued, you’ll find the usual trail sign indicating food and water caches if we’ve had time to leave any. If not, you’ll have to live off the land. Everything will be easiest and safest for everyone if you’ll have with you what you will need. Anyone who’s tracking, please leave our usual trail signs just in case we have to come looking for you. At this stage, any information we can get will be welcome.