by Jo Clayton
Sifaed turned to a clean page and drew a square. She frowned at it a moment, then started filling in the square with smaller squares and numbering these. When she finished, she wrote the numbers on the facing page with a note beside each number, then handed the pad back. “Far as I know, that’s how things are arranged. Those Chave go on and on like drunks on a talking jag when they’re with me. Cha oy, I admit I encourage them, you know why.” She looked at the pad in Deдnin’s hand. “I can’t see what use any of that is. You’re not going to get in there. Nobody gets in there except Chave.”
Deдnin slipped the pencil into its loop and tucked the pad away again. “We’ll let you know when we figure it out. Take care, Sifaed. And don’t push things, hm?”
Sifaed nodded. “I hear. Chel Dй grant the time be soon.”
3
Feoltir ran her fingers nervously through hair she’d bleached until it was white enough to pass for age. She glanced at the Guardian who’d volunteered to stay behind, wondering at the withered serenity in his face. He was wandering about, sliding his hand along the rough brown fibers of the Sleepers as if he were caressing cats. He was saying his farewells, that was clear. Farewells to things that looked like wooden eggs with the bark still on. She knew well enough that Eolt were developing inside, she’d been to a Hatching, she’d watched the embryonic Eolt emerge, small and slippery like egg yolks, watched them hunt blindly for the sky, pulling themselves up the posts of the pergolas and crawling shapeless and really rather revolting onto the lattice. She’d watched them suck blood from the Guardians and begin making the gas that would plump them out and carry them aloft. She watched them put on beauty and go floating upward, watched the making of the bonds.
That was why they were there. Her brother wanted the sioll bond. He sat with the other boys and in his turn played the song he’d made to call the new-hatched Eolt to him. He had the gift, an Eolt dropped the speaking tentacle, draped it lightly about his neck. She’d never forgotten the wonder and joy on his face, nor the pain in the faces of the two boys who weren’t chosen.
And I didn’t even have the chance to be rejected. She closed her eyes. I had as much music in me as he did, but no one listened.
A touch on her shoulder. She shivered, looked round.
“They’re coming.” Eagim pointed. “You’re ready?”
“I’m ready.”
The guard shoved her into the cell. He was rougher than he meant to be but not deliberately; he’d just forgotten his own strength. She caught her foot on the sill and fell heavily onto one hip, her right hand twisted under her.
By the time she got to her feet, the door had slid shut and she was alone. Fear churning in her, she moved to the sink in a corner of the cell and ran cold water over her wrist. It was already starting to swell. In a little while she wouldn’t be able to use it and she was ridiculously right-handed.
She moved to the cot, lay down on it, and pulled a blanket up over her. Ignoring the pain and the weakness in her fingers, she curled up and began removing the nutshells she’d inserted into herself. One. Two. A sharp pain in one finger. The third shell was broken. She lay still a moment, then worked her fingers deeper and brought out the fourth and last shell. When I hit the floor, she thought. That must have been when it happened.
She fetched out as much of the shell debris as she could locate, then uncurled and lay with her injured wrist across her eyes. The shells were filled with spores, borer worms and chigger nits. Making their way into her now. Into her flesh and blood and bones. No matter. There was time enough to break the other shells on the faces of the techs when they took her for their tests.
She slept a little, woke with her wrist throbbing. She wet a towel, wrapped it tightly about her arm and lay down again, dropping after a while into a restless sleep with dreams of worms eating into her, worms emerging from her skin, waving their slimy heads about.
A bong from the wall woke her from her nightmares. A monotonous chant told her to strip and follow the blinking red lights.
Her mind sodden with sleep and pain, she unwound the towel from her arm, pulled off the guardian robe and looked blearily around for the lights.
Red dots eye level on the wall blinked in swift series over and over as if the red light raced from the cot to a narrow door that stood open now, a door she hadn’t seen before. She stepped across the raised lip into a room like a closet with smooth white walls. The door slid shut and jets of hot water came at her from several directions, stinging at first then wonderful, washing away pain and fatigue.
The water stopped long before she wanted it to. “Put on the robe you’ll find in the meal slot,” the voice boomed at her. “Tie on the slippers.”
Her wrist was so swollen now she could barely use the hand. She managed to tie on the slippers, then leaned against the wall, her head roaring, her face and body slick with pain-sweat, nausea threatening to empty her stomach.
“Go to the door. Go to the door. Go to the door.” She ignored the voice. When she could move, she went to the bed, collected the three nutshells, took them to the sink and washed them off, then slipped them into her mouth.
“Go to the door. Go to the door. Put your hand on the yellow oval. Put your hand on the yellow oval.”
The guard was waiting outside. He was angry, she could tell because his inner eyelids had dropped and his eyes glistened. But he said nothing, nor did he touch her, just gestured with a long black stick, relaxing when she obeyed without fuss.
In the long examining room she saw the other woman she knew and a few male Guardians. Except for a few quick glances to map the place and set the script for what she planned, she kept her eyes down, shuffled docilely along until one of the techs noted her swollen wrist, swore with exasperation and pulled her away from the others. “Taner’s Claws, Guard Tibraz, I told you to watch your hands. This is the third one damaged.”
She kept her eyes on the floor, so he wouldn’t know she’d learned their ugly speech.
Hand on her shoulder, he took her to the workbench with its organized clutter of tools and instruments, placed her hand and wrist in a hollow much too big for it since it was shaped to Chav dimensions, dosed the top over it and started the scan working. “Hm.” He switched to Bйlucharis. “Two small bones cracked, woman. I’ll put you in a pressure bandage and give you some pills for the pain. Should be all right.”
He freed her wrist, turned away, reaching to a sensor on a cabinet door. She looked up. The other women were watching her. She nodded, spat a shell into the palm of her left hand.
The guard started toward her. Smiling fiercely, she spun away from his arm, slapped up and over it, smashing the shell against his face. Still spinning, she spat out the second shell, slapped it against the face of the tech, then threw the third shell onto the floor and grabbed a small smooth-handled blade from the clutter on the bench, set it against her throat, and cut deep.
4
MedTech First Muhaseb’s face bloomed on the screen. He showed worry in the Chav way, the inner eyelids dropping but not all the way down, a trickle of drool unnoticed at the corner of his mouth, his color faded to a pale gray green. Hunnar waved Ilaцrn to silence, scowled at the screen. “Well?”
“We’ve got a problem, O Ykkuval.”
“Explain.”
“The batch that the guards gathered from the Sleeping Grounds this time, most of them were women. They ah mmm used their mmm body cavity to bring in an extraordinary mix of spores and microscopic borer worms. Four techs and six guards got smeared with these and they’re close to panic now. They can feel themselves being eaten and rotted out. It’s mostly imagination, but, I’m afraid, not wholly. They’re demanding we drop them in stasis now and send them home with the next ship for more specialized treatment. They say it’s in the contract with their subclans and mmmm I’m afraid it is.”
“You didn’t search the women?”
“Hindsight is easy, O Ykkuval, but Taner’s Claws, they were women. Acting docile as pet keddin.
And to use such mmm means! No, we didn’t think to body search them. We washed them down, did a visual search, put them in robes we provided. It should have been adequate if they were normal women. Ah mmm most of them managed to kill themselves, but we salvaged three and put them under probe. It wasn’t any accident that we got mostly women. And not Guardians either, they were planted at the Grounds waiting for us, called themselves freedom fighters and they’d volunteered though they expected to die one way or another, from the infection they spread or at our hands.” He hesitated. “And we had to close and sterilize the lab. Ah mmm, several instruments were damaged and despite the cleansing, the few med techs I have left are hesitant about going into that room. We will, of course, find some means of continuing the experiments if you order it, but my recommendation is to let them drop for the moment anyway. We really aren’t set up for this kind of work.”
“Very well. Write up your preliminary results. You know what I want. Complete honesty of course, but perhaps a stronger emphasis on the positive aspects?”
The image of the Tech First bowed, his eyes dulled as the inner lids slid home with his relief. “I hear and obey, O Yukkuval.”
When the screen had faded to a glassy gray-green, Hunnar brought his fist down hard on the desk and spent the next several moments cursing the techs, the load of losers and blockheads he’d been saddled with, the hunting party due in less than a month now, 1361uchad, the women and all the varieties of Bйluchar life. Finally he straightened, flicked a hand at Ilaцrn, claws still extended though his anger had cooled. “Play something soothing. I’ve got to think.”
Ilaцrn lifted his head, fighting to keep the smile inside, the glee that was bubbling in his blood. For the first time since the Ykkuval’s guards had captured him, he felt a real touch of hope. We’re going to do it. We’re going to win. His hands were shaking, but the touch of the harp wood calmed him; he set his fingers on the strings and began improvising a muted paean to his happiness.
It was quickly interrupted by a pattern of chimes. Hunnar swore again, touched a sensor and rose to his feet. When the image bloomed across the screen, he bowed until his head nearly touched the desk, straightened with his hands folded in the submission display. “Ykkuval Hunnar ni Jilet soyad Koroumak is humbled by the honor of your presence, O Bashogre Aila O Rozen ni Jilet soyad Jilet, O Jiletah Jilet.”
The figure was swaddled in robes heavily embroidered in square designs with jewels and gold and silver wire, couched on a ground of silken crewel work. His hide was bleached with age until it was a pale greenish white, and thinned so that the heavy bones of his skull made a caricature of his face. “Honor, hah! Hunnar, that kadja Hayzin comes to me bleating you’re sucking coin like a black hole. What’s going on out there? This wasn’t supposed to be a messy one, just get the ores out and back to us. And deal with the Yaraka, of course. They been making trouble? You want me lodging a complaint with Helvetia, trade interference?”
“O Bashogre, it would be perhaps wiser to let that rest a while. Ah mmm. The locals have been hostile and managed to do us some damage and mmm if I may say it, our Finance Tech Genree has been less than efficient at anything but lining his own pockets. It would improve matters considerably if he were called Home.”
“No doubt, no doubt. Unfortunately, that is… not possible in present circumstances. What is that music I hear? It is charmingly delicate.”
“Ah. The locals have a cult of the harp. I have taken one of them as bond-ked. He’s thoroughly tame and quite gifted. And not allowed to get out of the Kushayt, so there’s no breach of security. If you find him pleasing, then it will be my joy to give him to you.”
“When this matter is complete, I will accept your offer, young Hunnar. At the moment better not. Helvetia is difficult about the institution of the bondkerl; they refuse to understand the reciprocal nature of the relationship. A collection of kadja nicmerms with spines so limp they can fellate themselves-but they control the flow of coin, so we have to humor them. I’ve read your flakes on the Yaraka matter and the use of the Freetech’s aaah contribution. Well done. But don’t wait too long to end it. Things can go wrong when you hold back your finishing stroke.”
“Your wisdom is beyond bounds, O Bashogre. My agent is at this very moment stirring the locals into rebellion. As soon as he reports the proper degree of heat has been achieved, we will strike under the cover of a local attack and the Yaraka will be erased from this world. We will be properly contrite and point out that we have voluntarily confined our activities to a single continent and have had our own difficulties with a rebellious populace.”
“Most commendable. Now as to the other matter. We are most interested in your plans. We will be sending a separate cadre to continue the studies of the effects of the smoke and deal with the logistics of collecting the… what did you call them… ah! the Keteng and confining them on reservations for breeding purposes. A fascinating life cycle that. The pictures of the flying creatures and the blaze when they expire make me regret my advanced age will not permit me to see this with my own eyes.”
“Mmm, O Bashogre, there is a complication. It would be well to send parasitologists and equipment for identifying and countering a wide variety of borer worms and dangerous spores. There is ordinarily no problem with such things, but we have had an incident in the lab. Several of our techs and guards were exposed to such matter through actions of local terrorists.”
“I see. How many involved?”
“Four techs and six guards, O Bashogre. They have requested stasis and return. My Tech First reminds it is in their contracts so it has to be done. It would be helpful if they were sequestered while they were being treated.”
“Definitely we do not want word getting out too soon. There will be complications enough to setting up the hunting preserve. You will keep me informed.” The screen blanked.
Hunnar sucked in a long breath, let it explode out. He glanced at Ilaцrn squatting on his pad in the corner. “Come. I need thinking time in the Dushanne Garden.”
14. Getting Together
1
“What!” Aslan grimaced at the Barge Kabit as she listened to the voice from the Ridaar remote repeat what she’d just heard.
Kabit Laцful was a short broad man with one of the few beards she’d seen on Bйluchad and a moustache that was a flourish in itself, the ends waxed and curled up so high they nearly tangled with a pair of bushy eyebrows.
Duncan Shears’ voice came tiny but clear into the conference room at the Meeting House, his tones dry, noncommittal. “I have an envoy from the Goлs standing beside me, Scholar. He has brought a flikit for our use and a message. The Goлs has come to a stronger sense of the urgency of the situation and the necessity for more speed and flexibility than river traffic would allow.”
“Pleased as I am to hear this, Manager Shears, I could wish he’d made up his mind a trifle sooner, before I wasted the time and patience of Kabit Laцful. When will the flikit be available?”
“It’s here now. I’ve set Aide Ola to stowing your gear and supplies.”
“Ah. Thank you. Is there anything more?”
“No, Scholar. Out.”
Aslan slipped the remote into its slot in the Ridaar strapped to her belt. “As you heard, Kabit, other transport has been provided. I apologize for having wasted your time. If there’s anything I can do…”
He smiled and his mustache ends wiggled absurdly. “You can join me for a glass of brandy at Seim’s Tavern and you can explain to me what is this flikit thing.”
She smiled. “If you’ll allow me to buy the brandy. The explanation comes free.”
2
The sun was low in the west, what was left of the day hot and still. The road was little more than a pair of faint ruts winding through the forest, rising at an increasingly steep angle. Shadith was in the lead, weary to the point of nausea. The litter discarded, Danor was tied to the saddle, clinging to the pommel with both hands, his face set, his eyes fixed on the twin peaks craw
ling so slowly higher as they neared the pass; Maorgan followed with the pack pony and the spare. They’d gone watch on watch since they left the dead chorek, snatching a few hour’s sleep each night. The moss ponies were tough little beasts, but even they were close to quitting.
Shadith’s mindtouch brushed repeatedly against men moving through the trees parallel to them, but each time she dismounted and left the road to go after them, the touches faded away. They were being watched, but so far no ambushes had been set. She began to hope they’d make the pass without more trouble.
3
“You’ll probably know one of us, our harpist, was invited to speak to the Meruu Klobach.” Aslan took a sip of the siktir brandy and smiled at Laцful, amused by the skill with which he maneuvered his own drink past his beard. The brandy was rather too sweet for her tastes but produced a nice glow as it went down. She made a note to ask the Denchok taverner about his brews and where he got the distillates. “She took a communicator like the one you heard in the conference room and reported her observations of the day’s journey to us each night. Not quite a tenday ago the reports stopped. Cha oy, one day was no worry. Things happen. Two days of silence and we started wondering. Three days and we knew we had to do something. It was a matter of finding transport and security. Hm. A flikit is a small flying machine. You’ve no doubt seen them buzzing about around the Yaraka Enclosure.”
