“There’s got to be more we can do,” said Alin thoughtfully when the report was over. “It’s a disgrace. The Sharers were just at the point of agreeing to talk, when Hyen panicked and threw them out. We can’t go on like this.”
“Then why leave it to the kids?” asked Blackbear. “Your bankers should tell him. At least he won’t give them sweets.”
“Say, that’s not a bad idea,” said Alin, stroking his chin. “If all the major banks shut down for a day—I like it.”
Blackbear said nothing. He disliked confrontation; it always left him exhausted afterward. There was altogether too much confrontation in Elysium, all because they had no High Priestess to settle things.
Upon his return, he found an unexpected call waiting from Bronze Sky. Could it be Quail and his twins; or could it be Raincloud’s sister, about the new baby?
It was neither. It was the director of Founders Clinic, a personage whose hand Blackbear had shaken once at a ceremonial function.
“Doctor Windclan, I’m delighted to reach you.” The director spoke in urban L’liite with just a trace of Bronze Skyan accent. “One of our clinic alumni, across the light-years! These are exciting times for Bronze Sky.” He wore turquoise tights, his skin polished like amber, his black kinked hair brushed into an impressive bush, a style which Blackbear had never quite got used to. “I’m well acquainted with your work here, and your references are the highest.”
“Well, thanks,” said Blackbear, rather abashed.
“I understand that your main project there in Helicon has been derailed—through no fault of your own, of course. To get to the point: We’d like you to come home and run your own lab.”
“My own lab?”
“That’s what I said. You’ve learned the ropes there; why not run your own fertility project at Founders, emphasizing Bronze Skyan aims and needs? No more Elysian foot-dragging.”
“That would help,” Blackbear agreed. Then he felt a twinge of conscience. “Of course, Tulle is a brilliant researcher and she’s been generous to teach me.”
“Exactly, that’s why we want you. Furthermore, as you know, the House of Hyalite will be working with us closely to build and equip our research infrastructure. I am confident that we’ll attract the best talent in the Fold.”
“I see.” Blackbear knew that Bronze Skyan investors had bought out Hyalite, but he was unaware of these implications for development back home. “I will certainly think this over.”
“Excellent. Of course, I’ll send you the details. You know, Blackbear, I remember you at Founders, going back to be a village doctor; and now, look how far you’ve gone. We’re all real proud of you—and I hope your future’s with us.” The director signed out.
The last remark left Blackbear stunned. Of course, when Raincloud’s clan sent him off to medical school, he had intended just that, to come back to Tumbling Rock and spend the rest of his life tending earaches, arthritis, and broken bones. How exactly had he ended up out here instead? His own past seemed to blur before his eyes. Then he remembered Verid’s call to Raincloud; a transfold call, how extraordinary it had seemed then. And the video they had sent from Tulle’s lab, about the quest for fertile immortality. It was all Verid’s fault, he thought irritably. She had lured them here, to Elysium, which for all its technology was just another village.
And yet, if he had not been ready to hear and listen…It was his own fault, really, that he had left, escaping the world of infant earaches and dying old men. He felt a diffuse sense of guilt; he wished he could go home and hug Quail’s twins right away.
He told Raincloud of the clinic’s offer.
“It’s worth some thought,” she agreed.
“But how can we ever do it?” he exclaimed. “You don’t want to leave the Hills for good?”
Raincloud sat heavily into the couch, massaging her leg which had gotten a pull during rei-gi. The high-gravity satellite was a bit much for her, Blackbear thought, just three months after giving birth. “No, although…” She did not finish her sentence. “With a shuttle, it might not be a bad commute. It’s just across the continent.”
Blackbear absorbed this. “Where do we get the shuttle?”
“There are getting to be more space-hop shuttles; if the clinic wants you, they can arrange it.” She added reflectively, “Mother complained in her last letter that too many city folk are moving into the Hills, to live there and work in Founders. But we belong there.”
He noticed her leg again. “Don’t you think that practice is too hard on you?”
She shook her head vigorously. “We can’t talk here,” she said, referring to the Urulan trip. “When we visit Kshiri-el to see the lifeshaper, I’ll bring you up to date.”
THE SEA WAS A BLUE MIRROR, MERGING ALMOST imperceptibly with the sky. All the overcrowded raft seedlings had been cleaned out by the seaswallowers; all but a few lucky ones, to survive to maturity and perhaps support Sharer habitation some day. Raincloud caught sight of one, a brownish smudge some hundred meters out off Kshiri-el. But no, that was just a raft offshoot—the one where she herself ought to have gone, unspoken. She felt ashamed, recalling her promise to Morilla. So much progress, all gone up in smoke.
“Where is everyone?” Hawktalon wondered aloud.
“Sh,” whispered Blackbear.
The first adult they came across had turned white without speaking. Now the Windclans stood before Yshri’s silkhouse, uncertain what to do. It was even harder than Raincloud had expected.
The door panel dilated, and a child came out of the silkhouse. Recognizing Hawktalon, she asked, “Have you come to play again? Where’s Doggie?”
“Doggie’s gone visiting,” Hawktalon replied. “Where’s your old legfish?”
“Excuse me,” Raincloud put in, “could you ask the lifeshaper to see my child?” She took Blueskywind out of her pouch. “She’s due for a checkup, and her scalp has a disorder.”
“Sure, come on down.” The girl disappeared inside.
Exchanging glances, Raincloud and Blackbear followed the girl inside and down into the woody tunnels. “Don’t touch,” Raincloud warned Sunflower as she warily eyed the green tendrils that trailed down the walls, secretors of potent enzymes.
Sunflower looked around with interest. “What not touch, Mother?”
Yshri came to meet them. Without a word she took the infant and turned her over briskly. Blueskywind cooed and gave wide open smiles, seeming to recognize an experienced hand. Yshri bent one of the tendrils from the wall to frisk gently over her scalp.
“I’m sorry about…everything.” Raincloud’s greeting felt flat and leaden to her own ears.
“Lushaywen, we’ve missed you,” Yshri told the infant. “We’ve missed your mother too.”
“I tried,” Raincloud added lamely. “I thought we were getting somewhere.”
“The eighth wave crashes over all,” Yshri replied, a common Sharer saying. “Lushaywen, you’re welcome to join our next witness in the boats. We shall encircle Helicon.”
Raincloud turned hot, understanding that she herself was called upon. “You can’t do that,” she exclaimed. “It’s quite unsafe to approach the surface of a cellular city. You could be sucked underneath, or tossed overboard by an outflow current.”
Yshri handed the infant back to her. “Lushaywen, your mother will make a good Elysian.”
AS THEY EMERGED TO THE RAFT SURFACE, RAINCLOUD blinked in the sunlight, still numbed by Yshri’s last words. Hawktalon and Sunflower scampered toward the branches at the water’s edge, while their parents followed more slowly.
“Tell me about Urulan,” Blackbear reminded her. “You promised to bring me up to date.”
Raincloud stopped. With difficulty, she turned her mind to the Urulan trip, a prospect which felt so distant now but was coming up too soon. She was not supposed to discuss it, but Blackbear deserved to know where his goddess and child would be.
Verid thought the new Imperator had consolidated his position; on what bas
is, Raincloud was unsure, for intelligence remained slim. At any rate, the invitation was firm. Their official aim was to commence disarmament negotiations; Zheron had actually offered to let them count missiles. But the main point was to see whether talk was possible—in other words, she thought grimly, whether they got out alive.
She sighed. “We go, three months from tomorrow.” Their disappearance would be disguised as a Foreign Affairs staff retreat. They could use a real one, she told herself wryly.
“Three months? You’ll never be in shape.”
She threw him a scornful glance. “I expect to be in top shape. The medics are inducing muscle growth to build me up for the extra bit of g-force.”
His mouth fell open. “What? That sort of treatment can wreck you for life.”
“This isn’t primitive hormone treatments; this is nanointelligent body tailoring. The sort of thing you came here to learn, right?”
“What if your bones can’t handle it?”
Raincloud smiled. “You sound like my father. Yet you’re the one trying to engineer embryos.”
“That’s different. This is for no good reason, just to visit that Goddess-forsaken planet.”
“Your friend Kal expects an entire planetful of immigrants to engineer themselves.”
“I never said I agreed with him,” Blackbear muttered.
Ahead of them a legfish had appeared, hoisting itself by its flipper legs along a huge raft trunk. Sunflower started to run off after it.
Blackbear called after him, “Come back, Sunny! You’ll get too near the water.” Hawktalon obligingly ran ahead to catch him, although he yelled indignantly and tried to pry off her hand.
The legfish meanwhile was moving hastily on down the branch, avoiding the commotion. Suddenly it slipped overboard into the crook of a side branch.
A strangled yelp split the air. The legfish was thrashing upward again, trying in vain to escape from something. Its cries soon subsided amidst a turbulent mass of things writhing underneath, the water tinted red.
“Fleshborers,” Raincloud whispered. Her scalp crawled as she watched. The legfish must have fallen into a nest of fleshborers. She remembered the seaswallower she had seen them attack, that day she took Doggie out with Draeg. Yet they must take an occasional Sharer, too, despite the best repellents. What dangers lurked here, without so much as a medical hovercraft to count on. She thought of Leresha, her skin a patchwork of scars.
Something clicked in Raincloud’s mind. If the Sharers went out in their boats to witness, she would have to go with them, or else she could never face them again.
Chapter 8
VERID WAS REVIEWING ONE OF RAINCLOUD’S transcripts of a speech that Imperator Rhaghlan had broadcast to one of his provinces. In his speech, amongst various extravagant promises, the new Imperator vowed never to deal with any people who practiced fetal experimentation. She frowned, puzzled. Was this a serious sideswipe at Elysium, or merely empty hyperbole? She knew enough Urulite now to question Raincloud’s translation of “fetal”; the word meant “infant,” she thought, and of course nobody would experiment on human infants. Then again, in some texts the word referred to young animals. Was this Imperator an animal rights fanatic?
“Office, please, call Raincloud.”
“Yes, Subguardian.” Seconds passed; the office took an unusual length of time to reply. “Raincloud Windclan is unavailable at present.”
“Excuse me, please clarify.” It was not the Bronze Skyan’s usual Visiting Day.
“She is neither at the Nucleus, nor at her home. Shall I search all of Helicon?”
This was most unusual. “Ask her mate, first, at the Longevity Lab.”
Within minutes the reply came. “Her mate says she’s outside somewhere, visiting Sharers. Apologies, I have no more precise information available, Subguardian.”
“That will do.” If Raincloud could get the Sharers talking again, that was well worth her pay.
The holostage light winked out, but soon came on again. “Security call, Subguardian.”
Verid sighed dutifully. “Very well.”
Above the holostage her security chief appeared. “I want to inform you of a slight problem on the perimeter.”
“Yes?”
“We’ve got things in hand,” the woman assured her, “but since it’s Sharers, you ought to know.”
She gripped her desk. “Sharers? Where?”
Another image appeared, the outer wall of Helicon with the waves of ocean lapping up its face. A dozen little boats bobbed on the waves, nearing the sheer face of the wall, as if they intended—what?
“We’re trying to shoo them off,” the security chief assured her. “But you know how they are.” And there would be more.
“Cut down the speed,” Verid warned. If a single Sharer were hurt, the treaty itself could be called into question.
“There’s another awkward dimension, I’m afraid,” the chief added. “A member of your own staff is among them.”
The image focused on one of the boats.
It was Raincloud with her infant, her dark-faced gaze looking grim as death. Verid stared in shock. This was a gross breach of staff regulations. Raincloud’s security clearance would suffer; she would be disqualified for the mission to Urulan.
OVER THE DAY THE SHARER BOATS INCREASED TO A hundred or more, bobbing around the wall of Helicon. Security dutifully sent servo hovercrafts to tow the boats out, but they soon returned. Some of their occupants dived out and actually swam to touch the wall, heedless of the treacherous current that passed as the city-sphere moved onward in its spiral path, designed to disperse heat. The swimmers were trickier to deal with than their boats, but again special aquatic servos removed them. No human Elysian would haul them off in person, of course; such physical confrontation in public would be unthinkable.
By the next night, the waves were lit up by “waterfire,” billions of luminescent microorganisms that multiplied after the swallower season. Still the boats and swimmers came, and the scene made spectacular viewing on holostages throughout Elysium.
The public reaction was intense, to say the least. Even Iras, who generally took things in stride, was upset. “I don’t know what’s going on in Helicon these days,” she told Verid rather peevishly during one of their rare nights off together. “Even when old Flors was running things, we didn’t have the Sharers swarming after us.”
“I’m doing my best,” Verid snapped. “You know I can’t say more.” Her own communication with Hyen had deteriorated since Flors left. It was odd how Hyen respected her competence from a safe distance, yet could not bear to follow her advice close at hand.
“He just can’t work with women,” Iras concluded. “Except prone.”
Verid was inclined to agree. And yet, Hyen still backed her completely on the Urulan project. If only she could extricate a settlement out of the Sharer mess.
“Raincloud at least did the right thing,” Iras added.
It shook her more than she cared to admit, to see Raincloud out there. It seemed somehow to echo the disappearance of Cassi, who was by now presumably a “fugitive” out on a raft somewhere. “Why don’t you go join Raincloud?” she replied curtly.
“Well, the banks are prepared to go on strike,” Iras said, “in solidarity with our Sharer sisters.”
“Really.” Verid eyed her skeptically; the day the banks put their money at risk, let alone their employees’ skins, was a day she doubted to see.
Sure enough, the next day Bank Helicon and several other major Elysian firms announced a week-long shutdown of operations. Alin Anaeashon had inspired and organized the action, and he made a stirring speech. “Let the people of Elysium see that some logens are good for more than words,” he concluded.
Practically speaking, the bank shutdown was as “safe” as Verid had figured, for only Elysian offices took part, while extra personnel were moved to branches on Valedon. But for Elysians, whatever the banks did had enormous symbolic impact.
For another day, Verid did her best to assure all the foreigners that their deposits were intact, while urging Hyen to put an end to the crisis. “There has to be a treaty conference,” she insisted. “You can’t get around it. Do it now, before we lose trust altogether.”
Hyen shook his head impatiently. “I won’t give in to pressure. Our allies will only despise us.”
“It’s not a matter of ‘giving in.’ You know I’ll arrange things.”
“By Helix, it’s not a shon we’re running here,” Hyen exclaimed. “You forget that we face interstellar missiles. What will Urulan think of us, if we back down before a bunch of naked fish-women?”
Too exasperated for words, Verid did not reply. She got up abruptly and walked over to watch the caterpillars munching on the leaves of the passionflowers.
Behind her, Lem began to speak but was interrupted.
“An announcement, Guardians,” said the monitor. “Guardian Papilishon has just called an emergency session, seconded by Guardian Dryashon. They will move for immediate rotation.”
THE TWELVE GUARDIANS IN THEIR GOLDEN SASHES SAT as usual around the outsized mooncurve of the table, the outlines of the holostages just barely visible upon its creamy surface. The air was electric; everyone was clearly awake, for once, and more than one gave furtive glances suggesting a wish to be elsewhere.
The Guardian Papilishon spoke first. “I move that the tide of Prime Guardian rotate immediately to the customary successor.”
A muttered “Second,” was heard. Much oratory ensued, denouncing Hyen’s handling of the Sharer crisis.
“You all have voted to approve everything I did,” Hyen reminded them.
“I did not,” Loris Anaeashon objected. “I did not intend to speak here, today,” the would-be successor added with false modesty, “but I must remind the Guard that I have consistently called for firm treatment of the natives.” He did not specify what that meant.
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