by AM Scott
Once inside the walls, Captain Ruhger drove slowly across a large open area, the native vegetation cut short, then slowed even more to go through another gate, this one made of local wood, cloudy with sealer, and into a courtyard with large, mud brick buildings. Captain Ruhger carefully piloted the van between two of the buildings and finally settled it down. The crew got up and removed the ear protectors, so Saree did too.
Turning, Purser Lowe motioned to her. “Hurry, Scholar. If we don’t get out of here now, we’ll get blocked in by chattering girls.”
Chief, standing in the aisle, motioned for her to proceed him. “Worse, Grant. Remember how this always goes?”
Lowe snorted and stepped out. Following him, Saree stepped down into a clear, dusty space, a large crowd of women and girls gathered in a semicircle around the van. They wore long tunics in shades of brown, tan and off-white. The women eagerly peered inside the lift-van; Saree assumed they were excited to unload the crates. Chief stepped up next to her, took her arm and pulled her off to the side. He stopped and turned, falling back into the first row of women.
A high-pitched yell rang out, two women sprinting through the crowd toward the crew. The Captain, Tyron and Loreli hustled away from the van, toward the semicircle of women. Katryn grabbed a box out the lift van, lowered into a crouch and ran toward the women.
What in all the worlds?
Katryn shoved the corner of the box into the stomach of one of the women, and she gasped as she collapsed to the ground. At the same time, Katryn swept out a leg, hooking the other girl’s leg. The second girl recovered with a stumbling step, but it was already too late. Katryn grabbed her arm and threw her to the ground, next to the first woman. The first gasped for air, two women from the crowd coming out to check her vitals and straighten her legs. The other lay face up, hands splayed wide, up above her shoulders in a clear posture of surrender, Katryn’s fist poised at her throat.
“You’re dead,” Katryn said, then she stood and held out a hand. The semicircle of women clapped, hooted and hollered. The second attacker took her hand, rising to pull Katryn into a hug, and Saree shook her head in wonder. Nice way to welcome someone home. Saree was glad Lowe and Chief buffered her from the girls now mobbing Katryn in a group hug, the chatter and laughter rising to deafening levels. Tyron stood well out of the way, arms crossed, an indulgent look on his face. Captain Ruhger stepped up to her side, put a hand on her shoulder and pressed gently, his fingers hot even through her robes.
“Come on, Scholar. They’ll be a while.”
Saree allowed herself to be herded, but disappointingly, the Captain dropped his hand after she turned. Pacing alongside him, they rounded the lift van to face the building. Another dull-brown mud brick building, but taller than any she’d seen. Craning her head up, she peered into the gathering gloom, but couldn’t tell how big it was, the edges fading into darkness.
“Sorry about the back-door welcome, but the cargo is far more important than we are,” Captain Ruhger said, pulling open the heavy-looking sealed wood door for her. Walking in, another door appeared in front of her, a narrow passageway running off to either side, with wood flooring, milky-gray with sealant. Captain Ruhger opened the door in front of her, nodding his head toward the opening.
Stepping in, she automatically moved to the side and surveyed. Saree stood in a large room with high—for mud brick construction anyway—ceilings, the ubiquitous milky gray boards underfoot and on the walls and ceilings. Tables, in the same milky gray wood, marched down the room in long rows, enough to seat fifty or more humans, bathed in bright, white light, almost blinding in contrast to the gathering darkness outside. Slightly wobbly stacks of hand-thrown pottery bowls and plates, glazed in shiny primary hues, sat on the tables every six chairs or so. Large, vivid abstract artwork hung on the walls, and the delicious scent of baking bread hung in the air. A small group of women stood a few meters in front of her; a larger group of women and girls gathered near a set of double doors halfway down the room on the right. Loreli, Lowe and Chief Bhoher walked past Saree, murmuring greetings to the small group of older women, and continuing toward the far group of women.
Captain Ruhger stepped up to her left and swept an arm. “Come, Scholar. I’ll introduce you.”
Trailing behind him, Saree used the time to scrutinize the five women in front of her. Mostly older than she by ten, twenty or more standards, they were an eclectic mix of colors and heights. Each wore a mix of Gliese-wear and what might be religious robes—dark, rough work pants with lots of pockets and tight long-sleeve shirts under thigh-length over-robes in shades of off-white, tan and brown. Simple squares of woven material, with a hole in the center for the wearer’s head, and a hood hanging down behind the neck, they seemed practical, easy-to-make warmth. From the rather coarse, rough weave, Saree surmised the robes were the natural shades of some animal’s fleece.
The woman in the center of the group was shorter than Saree, at least twenty standards older, and five kilos heavier, but those kilos were all muscle. She held a tall, solid black staff, subtle patterns decorating the surface. In coloring, the woman matched her robes—dark brown, weather-worn skin the color of well-used Old Earth leather, hair a shade or two darker, sprinkled with gray on the temples pulled back tightly against her head, and espresso brown eyes, slightly narrowed at her.
“Mother Ferra, this is Scholar Candidate of Ancient Music, Cary Sessan, delivered as requested along with the rest of the cargo.” Captain Ruhger jerked his head back toward the door they’d just come through, the chattering of girls growing louder.
Saree bowed deeply to the group but kept her eyes on them. The crew of Lightwave might feel safe here, but she didn’t know these people at all. She couldn’t rely on their familiarity extending to her and they seemed equally wary of her. They’d asked her to come; why would they do that if they were worried about her?
Mother Ferra bowed back, not as deeply, and like Saree, kept her gaze firmly on her. “Scholar, welcome to our home.” Mother Ferra’s voice was an unexpectedly high soprano, but still commanding. She motioned to the women on her left. “This is Sister Lashtar, our head of security—” the tall, pale blond woman with weapons openly displayed on her belt nodded to her “—and Sister Ani, our net master.” A dark-skinned woman with close-cropped curly black hair, the same height as Saree, nodded sharply, dark brown eyes just short of a glare.
Mother Ferra turned slightly to the right. “This is Sister Navarr, our house mother—” a petite, tan woman, with short, mousy brown hair smiled at her “—and Sister Danile, our y’ga master.” Sister Danile met Saree’s gaze, nodded sharply, then clearly scanned her from head to foot. She was a bit taller than Saree, with warm brown skin and close-cropped, straight, dark brown hair, amber eyes in a completely neutral expression and a body that gave the impression of a tightly coiled spring about to release explosively. Saree didn’t want to meet any of these women in a back alley alone, let alone as a group—they were clearly capable and dangerous, even Sister Navarr, her smile showing a distinct edge.
Mother Ferra continued, “Sister Navarr, could you please make sure the novices are actually unloading our cargo, rather than gossiping?”
Giving Mother Ferra a tiny, rather ironic smile, Sister Navarr nodded, and quickly passed behind Saree. As the door closed, the chatter of girls abruptly died off, and Saree grimaced just a bit, remembering her own house mother’s impact.
“Scholar Sessan, please join us,” Mother Ferra said, turning slightly to her left and sweeping an arm in clear invitation. The women split, and Saree walked forward to Mother Ferra’s side, all too conscious of the watchful women around her. Her footsteps rang loudly in the bubble of watchful silence as they walked to the far end of the room. They sat at a shorter table set perpendicular to the long ones dominating the room, the same stack of pottery bowls and plates in the middle. Saree found herself at the end of the table, with her back to a wall, facing all the doors, opposite what she guessed was the kitchen
from the clatter of metal on metal coming through the double-wide swinging doors.
She was pleasantly surprised—offering the safest seat at the table to a guest was a good sign. Especially when Saree assumed this was normally Mother Ferra’s seat. Looking down the table, though, four pairs of eyes speared her, along with Captain Ruhger’s. He was seated at the far end of the table, a slightly sardonic look on his face. Ah, she was in the interrogation seat. She smiled internally.
A young girl, dressed in tan Gliese-wear, appeared at her right shoulder and poured a steaming, dark beverage into the bright red mug in front of her, then poured for the rest of the table. Saree sniffed discreetly—black tea, real tea, a dark and smoky one. The women raised their mugs, so Saree followed suit, as did Captain Ruhger. The hand-thrown mug was heavy in her hand, but the glazing was smooth.
“May the Mother bless us,” Mother Ferra said, and sipped.
The women all repeated the phrase and sipped as well. Captain Ruhger merely nodded, so Saree did the same, and sipped from her cup. The tea was almost too hot, and strong, just shy of bitter, the astringency of the blend causing her mouth to pucker slightly.
Mother Ferra started. “So, Scholar, Captain Ruhger tells us you are a scholar of music, little-known music of Old Earth. The townspeople tell us you’ve been recording every tune they play, sing or dance, and you’ve successfully persuaded several of the shyer ones to perform for you. Not only that, but you’ve inspired them to hold a jamboree.” She smiled for a second, the expression seeming out of place with her very serious demeanor so far. “Not that it takes much inspiration to hold a jamboree—there’s not much entertainment here on Cygnus-Gliese.” She raised her eyebrows inquiringly. “But Ma Ecker? You must be quite persuasive.”
Saree smiled slightly and shook her head. “I don’t think so, Mother Ferra. I merely ask and encourage. Most musicians want to perform, even if they’re shy.”
There were nods of agreement around the table. Mother Ferra continued, “True. But still, to persuade Ma Ecker to perform is no small feat.”
Saree smiled, remembering the effort fondly. “Oh, yes, it took a little persuasion, but even those sure they are beyond their performing years still want to, deep inside. And while her voice may be a little rough, the heartfelt emotion comes through crystal clear—it’s rather heartbreaking.” She blinked, trying to keep any tears from falling.
The women smiled, the same smile Saree wore, slightly sad but hopeful. Ma Ecker had had a rough life, but she was incredibly grateful for the good things, even though to an outsider, the bad seemed to outweigh the good. Her performance was an amazing demonstration of faith, and Saree felt blessed to record it, even if the recording couldn’t truly convey the emotion Ma Ecker’s live performance did. Recorded performances never did—the Sa’sa were right on that point.
“Our library has some Old Earth recordings and a few documents. You are free to peruse and make copies if you find anything interesting. The challenge will be finding what you want. Most of our library hasn’t been cataloged,” Sister Ani said. She had an unusual, lilting accent. “We are too busy surviving to work on it.”
Saree blinked in surprise. “Thank you. That’s very generous. If I find anything in my field, I will certainly catalog it for you.” She hesitated, considering the unknown amount of work, but she really was bored. “Actually, if you want me to, I’d be happy to catalog your entire library while I’m here.” She shrugged and smiled slightly at the surprise in their faces. “There’s not much more for me to do here on Gliese. I’ve spoken to just about everyone on the planet except your order.”
Rather than the smiles she expected, the women all frowned or, in Sister Lashtar’s case, scowled. Mother Ferra turned toward Captain Ruhger. “That is unfortunately not true. There are many other little homesteading compounds scattered around this area and other parts of the world. Most are hardworking families, just trying to survive. But, as usual, there are those who believe they are owed something just because they exist, and they think nothing of stealing and looting what they want. Several of the farms near us have been razed, the families either dead, hiding or worse. It seems everyone who resists is killed, but there are indications younger women and older children are taken as slaves.”
Now their wariness and fierce expressions made sense.
Sister Lashtar took up the tale. Her voice was a low alto, with a distinct snap to it. “There have been some incursions into our territory as well, but all they’ve done so far is destroy things or take crops and animals. We’ve been very careful to send our girls out in groups with designated security, but we’re worried. When this group of sand fleas gets desperate, and they will, they may come in force. Certainly they can’t do anything against us here—we’re too well defended—but we have to farm to feed ourselves and trade with Haven.” Sister Lashtar scowled. “We don’t know how big this group is or how well armed. There is a cave system about ten klicks to the northeast—we think they’re hiding there—but our pitiful satellites just don’t have the ability to do any real surveillance; they’re just weather sats. Sister Ani and her advanced students have done wonders with them, but there’s only so much they can do.”
Ani nodded grimly in agreement, her ebony skin shining in the light.
Sister Lashtar continued, “We’d love to sit in siege and starve them out, but those caves have multiple exits. We’re sure we don’t know all of them and we don’t have enough people or sensors. We’ve approached the town leaders, but they don’t have enough people either, especially not trained people. Many in town don’t want to know about it; they’re happily ignorant.” Lashtar’s face showed her opinion of that attitude, and the derision was clear in her tone. “They turn a blind eye, saying we’re imagining things, just because the town hasn’t been attacked.” The fierce expression was tinged with something else. Fear? “Idiots.”
Mother Ferra raised a hand. “We are not aggressors. It’s against the tenets of our practice. We don’t attack. We defend ourselves, but we are not the aggressors. We are not law enforcement.”
Sister Lashtar broke in. “There isn’t any law enforcement here, Mother. That’s the problem. Who’s going to do it if we don’t? Isn’t that why you wanted to talk to Ruhger?”
“Sister…” Ferra said, the warning clear in her voice. Lashtar scowled but subsided. Saree was sure they’d had this argument many times before. Was this the reason for Lashtar’s fear, or was there more?
“Exactly what are you asking us to do, Mother Ferra? We’re definitely not law enforcement, nor are we mercenaries. We’re a transport company,” Captain Ruhger said, his normal glower deeper and harder, full lips compressed.
Sister Lashtar snorted, but didn’t say anything. Mother Ferra said, “We need some help with surveillance. We need to find the bandits, and rescue any children still alive. At least five farms have been destroyed, and we believe they’ve taken around ten children, maybe more. If we can find them, map a way in and rescue the children, that will be sufficient. We don’t have any overhead assets. Would you be willing to use your shuttle and map out the area?”
The line between Captain Ruhger’s brows deepened. “Maybe. I’ll ask the crew.” He shook his head and outright scowled. “Mother Ferra, we came down to relax a little. It’s been a… rough run and we need some rest.”
“Really?” Sister Lashtar drawled out, inquiring expression on her face. “Rough run how?”
Ruhger snorted. “That, Sister, is a very long tale and will require something stronger than tea.” He raised the mug and tilted it back and forth a little.
She smiled faintly. “Well then, it will have to wait until after dinner.”
Saree sensed a familiarity or connection between Captain Ruhger and Sister Lashtar. He’d told her one of Phalanx Eagle’s members became a Sister—perhaps Lashtar was the one? A former mercenary would be a logical choice for a chief of security…
While she watched and listened, girls and women entered the ro
om, seating themselves at the long tables, the general noise level rising with their numbers. They all looked curiously at Saree, but didn’t come over, so she ignored them as the Sisters did.
Mother Ferra stood and the room quieted immediately. She moved to the side and slightly behind Saree, facing out into the room and raising her arms. “May the Mother bless the food we are here to share. May the Mother bless our efforts to praise her. May the Mother bless us, and may the Mother bless our guests.”
“May the Mother bless us,” echoed back from every corner of the room.
Mother Ferra returned to her seat and young women streamed out of the kitchen, carrying large bowls and baskets. Sister Danile pulled the stack of small plates toward her and handed them around the table, Sister Ani doing the same with spoons. Two of the young women placed a large, leaf-green bowl and a tan, napkin-covered basket in the middle of their table. Sister Danile ladled some sort of thick stew into the bowls on the table and passed them down. The basket passed behind the bowls, each person pulling out what appeared to be a flat bread of some sort.
“Scholar,” Mother Ferra said quietly to her, “it is our custom to eat slowly in silence so we truly appreciate the gifts we have been given. We will talk more after the meal.”
Saree nodded her agreement and applied herself to the stew. Like every other meal she’d had on Cygnus Gliese, it was mostly starch, a tuber of some sort, with some meat in sauce, but this one had less dust and far more flavor. She didn’t recognize the flavor, but it was pleasant, sweetly sharp and slightly minty. Perhaps it was a local herb?
