Had I?
I shuddered and Morgan’s fingers brushed warm against my wrist. Okay?
I’ve something to tell you—The leader, at least of this group of rescuers, was walking toward us.
Offering his hand.
My Human didn’t hesitate, stepping forward to grip it in his. The Hoveny looked down, turning their clasped hands. Counting digits at a guess. His eyes, pale and intelligent, widened briefly before he let go. “I am Pauvan Di,” he said, his voice pleasantly deep. “We grieve with you.”
“Thank you,” Morgan replied, dipping his head. He’d been observing their ways, I realized. “Jason Morgan. This is Sira and Gurutz.”
The Sona scout pointedly put his thumbs through his belt, but I didn’t hesitate to offer my hand to the Hoveny, bending my head that slight bit, too. “We are all grateful,” I said earnestly.
His skin to mine allowed a subtle exploration. I sensed goodwill and burning curiosity. There. Another presence. So they’d Chosen, or something like it.
The mind linked to his was stronger, as we measured Power, roughly equivalent to the average Human telepath. She, for I sensed that, too, saw what Pauvan saw. They’d be able to communicate.
Unfair to hide what I was, but this wasn’t the time for revelation. In case either of the pair could sense emotion—consciously or not—I filled the outermost layer of my thoughts with gratitude, adding the worry and grief he’d expect. The truth—always the safer course. I reclaimed my hand.
“We would like to remove your—” the Hoveny’s hesitation made me like him even more, “—your lost ones.” He gestured toward a waiting transport, larger than the others and with an enclosed back.
Let me, chit. “We appreciate it,” Morgan said, his tone somber. “How can we help?”
“We’re strangers.” Pauvan appeared to brace himself. “We shouldn’t—strangers shouldn’t handle the dead.”
I felt Gurutz’s impatience. From the look of those in the vicinity, the Hoveny had tried to make this point already and failed. The Clan, tired and upset, weren’t about to volunteer to clean up after the Oud.
Morgan handed me his pack. “I’ll do it.”
Jason—
It’s not the first time, Witchling. With quiet resolve. Let’s make it the last.
I helped. Seeing what we were doing, Barac came, and Ruis, then a few others. The Hoveny proved willing to place the husks, if wrapped in blankets, in the transport. They did so with such respect and care, I might have been ashamed.
But these pieces of flesh weren’t us and hadn’t been. This was work, filthy and hard, and like Barac and the others, I did it not for the Hoveny sensibilities or for our dead, but for Morgan.
When we were done, the Hoveny gave us round flasks of water, pausing for a moment’s silence before drinking themselves.
While the Clan watched.
And some of them judged.
There will be those who fall, Sira. Aryl’s mind voice was almost stern. There was nothing anyone could have done.
Though I’d rinsed my mouth and drank, the acrid taste of dust, what it meant, lingered. Tell Ruti. One of the husks had belonged to Rasa. Since that dreadful discovery, Barac’s Chosen had gathered the other children together, keeping them and their parents as far from me as possible.
I will not. If blaming you helps her function, so be it. Grimly. You’re strong enough to give her time.
She’s not the only one who blames me. Josa and Nik, the latter having yet to let go of their daughter’s hand, stood pointedly with Degal.
And me. Morgan entered the conversation, his sending dark with grief. I brought the Oud.
You stopped them from running us down! Aryl’s tone softened. We’ve been here before. Do not regret what can’t be changed.
Listen to our daughter-to-be. I slipped my hand into Morgan’s, sent strength. Not that my Human was in need, but to see something warm again in his eyes and know I’d put it there.
One of the Hoveny approached, dipping his head courteously. It was Pauvan Di. His face was drawn, sweat-dampened dust caught in the fine lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth. “If you’ll come with me, please, Sira. Jason.” He indicated the remaining vehicle.
I’d sent Tle di Parth first, with Destin, the pair being the most potent combination of Power and suspicion among us. The Chooser had agreed to stay connected; I’d felt nothing but her attention along our link, deep inside the M’hir.
We were the rearguard, in Morgan’s parlance. Against what, I’d no idea and would be delighted not to discover. Any problems? I asked Tle.
We’re fine. Waiting for you. The Chooser’s tone for once had no bite to it. Our hosts are courteous.
Would there be Candidates for her among them? Our initial sample didn’t bode well.
Morgan picked up his pack. “Lead on.”
I climbed in and sat. The bench seat wasn’t padded. That, and the lack of doors suggested the climate here was moderate—or would be hotter. The little bit of reasoning pleased me, even though I suspected my ever-capable Human had determined how to drive and rebuild the vehicle, as well as predict the weather for the coming—what did I call it here, months? The Om’ray used fists.
Months would do, I decided, till I knew better.
The driver sat in the middle of the front bench, Pauvan Di to her right. Or his right. She or he was one of the individuals here who, though adult, felt neither female nor male to my inner sense, doubtless the reason for the Tikitik’s consternation over our being “all sexed.” I needed new pronouns, as well as names for time.
Though tempted to lean forward and ask, I stayed put, not that I’d much choice, squeezed between the open side and Morgan’s pack. He grinned at me over the top and pointed.
The archway, with its lit tunnel, was about to swallow us.
As we drove inside, I craned my neck, determined to observe everything I could. Not that I expected a tunnel to be all that informative, but at this point, anything about this place and people had to help.
The construction was new, based on the perfect brickwork lining the walls. The light fixtures were more haphazard, strung along ribbons of thick wire—primitive, or expedient. I could almost hear Morgan warning me against premature assumption. The wheels crunched on a road made of coarse gravel, dampened to keep down dust.
Our destination became clear before we’d gone far: another world.
An old one. Instead of smooth brick to either side, we drove between the rounded sides of buildings, as though entering a narrow street within a buried city. Making this tunnel an excavation and these buildings? Aryl, what do you think?
Hoveny Concentrix, she confirmed, seeing through my eyes. These look like the structures the Oud freed from the mountain ridge, that Marcus and the others were so excited to find.
The structures here hadn’t been freed from the surrounding rock, but even this meager glimpse was enough to excite me. The architecture was unlike any I’d seen and stunningly beautiful, more art form than building. Throughout, the lights and wires were suspended from hooks in the rock overhead, or on poles, as if to protect the surfaces. Marcus said they couldn’t drill into the walls, Aryl sent.
I passed that along to Morgan, who nodded, eyes bright with interest.
The “street” carried on, sometimes wider, often narrow and twisting. One long section shrank inward, threatening the sides of the Hoveny vehicle, but our driver drove through without slowing.
This hadn’t happened three hundred years ago. I didn’t know how long it took the surface of a planet to engulf what appeared to be an entire city—or how a city survived being buried like this, for that matter, so its streets and structures remained intact. Norval had succumbed to its own mass. The puzzle of the Hoveny Concentrix stared back at me, written in graceful lines and alien curves, no easier to comprehend than before.
When the tunnel opened again, widening into a bulb, I realized there were others looking for answers here. One building had been singled out for attention, the rock that must have encased it removed. Lights played upward, revealing the top to be a dome, rising to a central peak. Around the building’s base were fabric-sided tents, some quite large, as well as a parking area presently filled with familiar vehicles.
As ours joined them, I could see beyond the tents. Dazzling beams of sunlight poured through an opening even larger than the one through which we’d entered. Through it, I glimpsed what interested me far more than the Hoveny relics.
A verdant, living landscape rose before my eyes, carpeted in farm fields crossed by glittering streams. The gravel road from the tunnel continued outside, becoming a walled ditch up the middle.
The vehicle came to rest. I climbed out, then gave Morgan’s pack a helpful push in his direction.
Our people are here, Aryl, with relief.
I dared reach, keeping the searching tendril within the M’hir. Minds were tightly shielded, as I’d expected, emotions dampened. Sendings flickered along the bonds between Chosen. The impression I gained was a reassuring calm.
My Human shrugged on his pack, then raised an eyebrow at me. Situation update, that meant.
Improving, I decided, by the moment.
And found I could smile.
Interlude
HOME. Lemuel Dis wished ne’d thought to put in noseplugs. Planets stank, there was no way around it, and this one still smelled to ner of poverty, struggle, and despair.
Others holidayed dirtside. There was no accounting for taste.
Nor any acceptable delay. Ner absence would be remarked by the upcoming shift change, but not made public unless there was a system-wide emergency—
Say the sort brought about by knowledge of a ship from outside the system before context was established and the necessary controls in place. Ne didn’t care to imagine the panic. Ne wouldn’t permit it.
Hence the plunge straight from the moon, bringing those already exposed to the information: some of nes staff, the historian, and, of course, Thought Traveler.
To be delayed here.
Lemuel regarded the on-duty supervisor of Brightfall’s SysCom with little favor. “Explain the problem, Nermein Dis. I ordered statements from every individual in contact with these visitors.” A neutral word for the shocking appearance out of nothing by one hundred and fifty-seven living things who pinged as Hoveny on remote detectors.
Plus one who registered “unknown.”
“I began the process at once, Director, but the Tikitik won’t cooperate.”
Little became none. The Cooperative relied on two principles: no species’ law overruled another’s, and every member had the right of access to their own kind, however annoying. Lemuel hesitated. Involve Thought Traveler, presently contained with the others, in this mess?
Might as well call in the major newscomms now and be done. Tikitik of its status didn’t come to Brightfall. Nothing happened here to attract their infamous curiosity.
Until now.
Nes role, to see the system worked for all. This supervisor should have arranged to have himself declared—albeit temporarily—a Tikitik. Lemuel arranged nes face to show benevolent patience. “Have you obtained dispensation from my counterpart on Tikitna?”
Nermein’s eyes widened. No, that meant. “May I have your authorization to do so, Director?”
Save ner from the planetborn, who considered everything beyond their skin of sky out of reach. “You have it.” Lemuel waved to nes staff, who’d provide the codes.
Time wasn’t on nes side or theirs. Several visitors had been killed, no doubt with blame to be laid and dealt with and protested. More pressing? There were others with the ability to detect the visitors and no guarantee their reactions would be palatable or safe. “Speed is of the essence.” Lemuel Dis ordered. “Send the statement directly to me once you’ve obtained it. And, Nermein?”
“Yes, Director.”
“I remind you this is a System matter, of the utmost sensitivity. Should news of it travel by unofficial channels to Brightfall’s government or elsewhere, haisin will be charitably severed and everyone from this office relocated to an asteroid in the mining belt. A distant asteroid. For life. Am I clear?”
“Yes, Director.” He gave a short, proper bow. “Rest assured we appreciate the seriousness of the situation. The background you requested.” A data crystal changed hands from one of his staff to nes. “You’ll find it’s complete: profiles of site personnel; a summary of the research underway.”
“‘Research?’” Lemuel was almost startled; nes thoughts had moved to the next step: meeting those visitors. “I was told the site was a construction project.” Specifically, another expansion into unsuitable land—it’d be the next generation of farmers who’d suffer for it, as far as ne was concerned. Brightfall’s present government? Not known for its long view.
“A survey and record team, to be exact, Director. There’s a seesor from Hilip present, with discretionary authority over the project’s continuance. There are pre-Fall structures within the area to be flooded—of itself unremarkable—” it being impossible to dig anywhere on the planet without hitting one, “—but these are controversial. There’s local resistance to their loss.”
Coincidence? In Lemuel’s experience, it was wise never to assume so. “Your summary will be useful, Nermein.”
He’d a well-disciplined face, but ne caught a flash of gratification. “Your transport waits on the roof pad, Director.” A final bow. “May I offer my personal wish for your success?”
Discipline and the ability to grasp ramifications. An individual to watch, perhaps groom; new staff for the Hub being hard to find. Lemuel inclined nes head, slightly. “I accept, Nermein Dis. Though at this point, I’ve no idea what ‘success’ will be.”
Or if they’d be fortunate to survive it.
Chapter 20
IT DID the Hoveny a disservice to call the shelter they provided within their tunnel a tent. Temporary, maybe, but despite their woven appearance, the walls were solid to the touch, the ceiling featured inset lights and air circulation, and it boasted a cushioned floor. There was no obvious clue how they’d used this space before being inundated with Clan. Someone—likely several someones—had worked hard and fast to prep it for us.
We’d been lucky to find these people and be in their care.
Five cots with our wounded stood along one wall, each connected to a machine and tended by a Hoveny wearing a clear overcoat. Along another were rows of astonishingly pink inflated couches. The middle space held a selection of tables, chairs, and stools that looked to have been grabbed from a variety of sources. These were placed near a long counter loaded with white bins, half containing the round water flasks and the others filled with small clear bags of green crisps, with more Hoveny in brown standing by.
Their offerings sat neglected. My people stood without moving, carefully distant from any stranger, their grim faces streaked with dirt and blood, their belongings at their feet or still in their arms. They’d been betrayed too often, I realized, my heart aching.
I stepped away from Morgan, spreading my arms wide. “Our thanks to our gracious hosts,” I said, my voice ringing through the silent room. Under the words, I sent: I’ve found no harm in these people but I am watchful. Trust me, if not them. Rest. Recover. Accept help.
SIRA! SIRA! My name was their acknowledgment, like a warm blanket around my shoulders, and even those I’d angered gave me weary smiles and nodded. My hair, enthused, rose around me—to the intense interest of the Hoveny—and I was mildly surprised the stuff didn’t fly in front of my face.
Motion, all at once, as statues became people, going to the counter, others choosing a spot to leave their things.
Much as I wanted to join them, there
were those I needed to see first.
“Med-cocoons,” Morgan observed. “Close enough.”
The Silver Fox had had such a device, essential in a ship with a sole inhabitant. I hadn’t liked it then.
I didn’t like these. A featureless opaque dome covered each cot, making it impossible to see who was whom. That wouldn’t stop my inner sense. I went to touch the nearest—
One of the Hoveny caregivers deftly put herself in the way. “Please do not interfere with treatment.”
“We won’t,” Morgan said with a pointed emphasis on the “we.”
“Thank you. I am Aracel Dis, edican in charge.” Aracel was the oldest Hoveny I’d seen so far, wrinkles softening the corners of her upswept eyes and along her lips. Her white hair was so tightly bound mine twitched in sympathy and this close, I could see the clear material she wore over her work clothes had a hood, presently rolled up, and extended to cover her hands. Tall, of course. Rather than step back, I craned my neck to look her in the eyes, finding compassion and no little curiosity.
Inadvertently, I reached, to find nothing there.
No. Not nothing. A perfect shield. Morgan’s were impressive, but this? I dipped into the M’hir and looked.
There. Maybe. Something encased her mind in an impenetrable bubble, keeping out the M’hir, keeping out any questing thought. Proof the Hoveny might not be as vulnerable as I’d feared, but how was it possible? This wasn’t like the implants used by Bowman and her constables. This felt innate.
And purposeful. Even for protection, how could anyone choose such terrible silence? I’d experienced it; that I hadn’t gone mad, trapped within my own mind, had more to do with finding Morgan than strength.
Who was amused at my distress. Most do quite well, Witchling, he reminded me. Aloud, with the impeccable manners of a trader, “You have our gratitude, Aracel. I’m Jason. This is Sira. How are our injured?”
“It’s too soon to say,” the edican replied. “We’ve done all we can for them here.” She gestured toward the cocoons as though apologizing. “They’ve been stabilized for transport.”
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