The Shattered Sky

by Paul Lucas

  The large chamber was lit here and there by torchlight and a few small human-made electric lights. Some of the community had hastily gathered some things other than weapons, and some children had braved the winds to bring some equipment and medical supplies from the Niven's Folly. The defenders had managed to successfully secure a short hallway leading to an outside ledge. It was how they had sent the children to the helistat in the first place, and the narrow confines of the particular hallway made it easy to defend.

  The lighting would be dim to the humans, but we Myotans possessed superior night vision. The dull light would serve us almost as well as daylight.

  What I saw did not look encouraging. Many lay on the floor in drying pools of blood, tended by family who did not look much better. "How--how many--?"

  "Over twenty," Windrider said. "Over twice that wounded." For the first time I noticed her hand shook, that her eyes were framed with dark circles of fatigue. She must have pushed herself to the edge of spell fatigue as I had, but in her case using healing spells in a desperate attempt to save the dying. "Gossamyr, I cannot believe that this happened. Why would the Sky-Spirit do this to us? Have we sinned that badly?" Tears brimmed her eyes. She normally would never show such emotion, but the grief and exhaustion was making her careless.

  I reached up and stroked her cheek. A human gesture I had picked up from my husband, but one that seemed to comfort her nonetheless. "Hush," I said. "Those who have left us are beyond pain now. They are in a better place, watching over us. Isn't that what you have always taught me?"

  Cloud snarled behind me. "Those Xique will pay for what they've done!" I turned to see him snatch up his rifle. Cloud, grateful to have a human-made rifle in his tool-fingers. The situation must be truly desperate. "Now that the humans are here, we can counter-attack! The weapons Amethyst have given us will make the fight far more even, and the children are bringing up even more from the helistat."

  I shot a quick glance at the Orc woman. Why did the humans have so much firepower aboard?

  As if sensing my question, she smirked, rolled her eyes, and shrugged. Apparently most of the firearms were hers. I wondered if even Jacqueline knew how many weapons she had aboard.

  Some hunters were like that, collecting arrowheads and knives far in excess of how many they would need in their lifetimes. They were always paranoid that one would break or they would run out at a crucial time. Perhaps Amethyst was the same way, only with guns and grenades.

  Amethyst spoke to Cloud. "Maybe we should give the Mages time to rest, first. We can use the support. This room seems fairly dependable, so we should be safe until we're ready for our breakout. Gather every able-bodied adult you have--"

  Cloud's fur bristled. "You do not give the order here, human!"

  "Look, I'm the most experienced soldier you got."

  "These are our people! Our home, not yours! We will make the decisions!"

  Windrider snapped, "Cloud, speak to them with respect! They risked their lives reaching us! And they have brought us better weapons!"

  The Chief Hunter spat. "If their guns are so much better than the ones we have, why didn't they give them to us in the first place? Do we only get their cast-offs and junk? If we'd had these so-called assault rifles from the start, we might have been able to hold off the Xique! All this death and misery could have been prevented. Instead we have to constantly endure human arrogance--"

  Louis spat. "Oh yeah? If you hadn't had those guns you traded from the helistat crews for, you would have had no chance at all in holding off the Xique!"

  All four of them suddenly erupted into a yelling match, Cloud, Louis, Windrider, Amethyst, each one yammering at the top of their voices. Thank the Sky Spirit the Xique were far out of range of our translators or else they might have decided to slaughter us just to put an end to such idiocy.

  "Shut up!" I shouted at them. "That is enough! There will be no counter-attack!"

  All their words suddenly guttered to a stop as they turned to stare at me. Slowly I helped myself to my feet. My legs were a bit wobbly.

  Louis said, "What are you talking about?"

  "Didn't you hear what they said out there? They will not attack us as long as they believe we're the humans’ prey."

  Amethyst shook her head. "Gossamyr, you did a righteous thing, buying us some time with your double-talk and blood-drinking back there. But it won't hold. They'll realize it's bullshit sooner or later."

  "Maybe. But didn't you hear what that one said when I asked them why they attacked us? We assumed it was because someone here had done something to harm their prey-beasts. But now I don't think so. I think they attacked that hunting party as just their first victims."

  Amethyst grimaced. "I still don't--"

  “The sound!" I said. "They said they were attacking because of the sound!"

  Instinctively, all grew quiet in the room, listening. The humans had to strain, but we Myotans heard it readily, a steady, low thrumming that could just be detected over the low-grumble of conversation and activity throughout the chamber. All their eyes grew wide in realization.

  "Yeah," Louis said. "But the big question is, where is it coming from?"

  "I think we already know that," I said. "The Weird near the fiftieth level. But the more important question is, can we shut it off?"

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  "I'll be dipped in shit."

  Some of the Xique regarded Louis queerly when the translators changed his words into the Xique language. They sniffed at him suspiciously, then shuffled away.

  Or perhaps it was their discomfort from the sound, now very loud and almost painful. My ears were flat against my head and I could only block out some of it. Even the humans were wincing at the constant claws-on-metal vibration that seemed to fill the world around us.

  But what made Louis swear wasn't the sound but its source. A chamber, a large, machinery-filled chamber that had not been accessible when Lerner and I completed our Tower survey four years ago. The Tower had a number of sealed off chambers with doors that never opened, no matter what one tried. In the entire history of my people, none of the sealed doors had ever been opened.

  And now it seemed as if one had spontaneously decided to open on its own. How? Why?

  Those questions were temporarily pushed to the back of my mind as I surveyed the wonders before me. The machines that lined the walls seemed to be made of snapped-together geometric shapes with constantly shifting surface colors and textures. They almost seemed to ripple and undulate on their own, ever so slightly. At the opposite end of the chamber stood three large transparent tubes filled with a clear liquid, slanting at a severe angle as they merged into the silver-black metal of the floor and wall. The liquid inside percolated occasionally with thousands of tiny bubbles. A scattering of loose artifacts lay on the floor and on the room's one lone workbench.

  I had seen much of the Known Nations technology, and knew instantly that these machines were far in advance of anything they had yet conceived. They could only be of Builder make. This chamber may have been sealed off since before the Great Cataclysm five thousand years before.

  The Xique were not impressed by the chamber's contents. Though sentient, they had no technology. It had no use in their way of life. The Builder artifacts were probably just so many funny-looking rocks to them. But one did take notice of a significant fact: "This is where the noise is coming from!" Bloodgouge said through the translator. His four crèche-mates huddled close to his feet, mewling pitifully. To me, the noise was extremely grating. To the Xique, who have even better hearing than Myotans, it must be downright painful. "But what is causing it? I see nothing making the noise!"

  I turned to the Xique. "This is what has been causing your Prey Gods to leave the area?"

  Bloodgouge slashed his tail back and forth, the Xique equivalent of a nod. "Yes. They are much more sensitive to such things. They have been steadily moving away from the region for months now. It took us a long time to figure out what was irritating them
so. We eventually realized that your Tower was centrally located in the region they had abandoned, and when we got close, we heard the noise. It has steadily gotten worse. We assumed the dwellers of the Tower were causing it, that you deliberately chose to drive the Prey Gods away. It never occurred to us that something such as this could happen in your Tower and you not be aware of it."

  "It surprises me, also." We were on the forty-seventh level, smack dab in the center of the tower. It was just below where the kilometer-wide base of the Tower begins to taper into the relative needle-like point that existed over a thousand meters above us. It was a part of the Tower that was rarely visited. Both the youngsters and the glider-fliers rarely ventured far from the many open ledges at the Tower's exterior or the few established paths that led higher. The interior was too dark, and the twisting corridors were too easy to get lost in. Lerner and I once spent nearly two days wandering lost in these corridors, huddling next to each other for warmth whenever we could.

  But this door had not been open then. One of Lerner's tasks originally was to fully map the interior of the Tower. We had done so in the first half-year he was here. No corridor had been left off, no doorway, open or closed, unaccounted for. I am very sure we would have remembered a self-lit chamber full of Builder marvels.

  But why had we not noticed the sound? The Xique said it had been steadily getting worse as the weeks went by. Surely someone would have noticed even a low hum.

  Unless they thought it was the howl of the wind that constantly passes through these upper levels. During really powerful gusts, the entire Tower has been known to fill with wind-howl. Perhaps those who did hear it thought nothing of it.

  "Stop the noise!" Bloodgouge said to me. "If you are truly the spiritual kin to our Gods, please, stop it."

  Amethyst spoke up before I could reply. "We'll get right on it. Dumas?"

  The Spider Swarm literally leapt into action, his element bodies making meter-consuming springs into the chamber. I turned toward the Xique. They couldn't understand the complexity of technology, so I had to explain to them in simpler terms what Dumas was doing. "Our...pets will hunt down and kill the source of the sound. They are small and can fit in places where we cannot, in case whatever is causing it is hiding. But it may take him a few hours..."

  The noise stopped. We all turned to look into the room. Dumas' element bodies were all clustered around a machine at the far end of the room, one that looked like a shoebox connected to a car engine. They all turned in our direction. It was hard to tell with a life form like him, but I could swear he was looking at us smugly.

  "Or maybe not," I said.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Okay, if we can all stop giggling for a minute, we’ll continue with our overview of the course.

  Most of the inhabitants of the Outlands are made up of what we, perhaps erroneously, call “aboriginal” tribes, from an old Earth term. Each band has a mean population of about forty individuals, though some tribes can have as few as a dozen or as many as several hundred members. They usually have very limited tool sophistication, what we refer to as prehistoric or stone-age technology. And with their limited tools, they cannot travel far within a typical lifetime and therefore have limited contact with other peoples. Can anyone tell me what all that means?

  Correct, Ms. Rhiannon. Limited gene pools. Even in a band of several hundred, assuming typical human-like family structure, in ten generations at most every one will end up being related somehow to everyone else. For generations afterward inbreeding becomes the norm, and this will eventually result in debilitating birth defects in many of the newborns. The tribe may well cease to be.

  In order to prevent this, the solution is obvious: the members of an aboriginal band need to mate outside the tribe as often as practical. And this is exactly what most do.

  Now, in terms of sheer population, about sixty-five percent of the peoples in the Outlands are baseline humans or transhuman variants, with another five to fifteen percent--depending on which estimates you believe--are mammalian uplifts patterned after the human model. And that means sexual instincts and preferences that closely resemble our own.

  In other words, as contact specialists, you’re going to have to deal with sexual matters a lot in order to foster friendly relationships with many of the peoples in the Outlands. As part of a helistat expedition, you and your fellow crewmembers will be exotic strangers, and therefore very attractive as prospective mates, to many of the peoples you’ll contact. As the past thirty years of exploration has shown, sexual liaisons and relationships between some members of a helistat crew and the natives they meet along the way is almost inevitable. In some cultures, it will even be expected.

  This is not to say that you’ll necessarily have to perform sexual acts yourself in these situations. Er, what’s that, Mr. Turnbull?

  (Class laughs)

  Yes, Mr. Turnbull, I’m sure some girls you know would be more than willing to take on such delicate diplomatic tasks. And you’d be more than willing to help them train, wouldn’t you?

  (More laughter)

  But seriously, some sophontologists have been injured--one even killed--because they or their crews broke some sexual taboo by either being too conservative or too liberal with the subject in the eyes of the natives. You have to learn, and quickly, what’s acceptable and what isn’t in the society you’re contacting. Accurate observation and quick assessment are key. This is especially true with transhuman Artisan uplifts, whose exact sexual natures can be hard to predict.

  What’s that, Ms. Akashi? Ah, yes. I knew someone was going to bring up the Lerners. Someone always does, lately.

  I know the Lerners got a lot of press when they visited the KN a few years ago. But let me tell you here and now that the Lerners are the exception, not the rule. If you have some romantic notion of going into the Outlands to find some exotic transhuman soul-mate, put it out of your head right now.

  A long-term relationship between two members of your own species is complicated enough. Maybe you’re too young yet to understand all the emotional baggage and hard work that goes into making a lifetime commitment work. Can you really imagine what it is like to be intimate--and I don’t mean just sexually--with someone who is not only from a different gender and a different culture, but from an entirely different race?

  --from class transcripts of Prof. Stihen Tatinopolis, from his course Explorer Sophontology, section 313: Mating Rituals and Sexual Practices of Sentient Species in the Outlands, Lyra University, Spring semester 546

  * * *

  The last shuddering after-shocks of our love-making died away and I slowly, reluctantly, disengaged myself from atop my husband and rolled away to the side. I lay beside him, aglow with a contentment that washed all the horror and death of the last few days out of me. I knew the feeling would fade as soon as my sexual high ebbed, but at the moment I wallowed in temporarily not feeling any grief or pain.

  Lerner twisted around on his side to gaze dreamily at me, his hand gently stroking the fur on my belly. Still very hot from all our activity, I panted heavily, my chest heaving with one wing spread fully to my side off the mat to help me cool off. I almost envied the human ability to sweat so freely, even if it had taken me months after our official Mating to get used to the smell.

  I eventually became comfortable again and turned over onto my side to face him. He smiled at me and snuggled close. I gladly returned the favor. We said not a word. We did not need to. His eyes fluttered shut and soon he was gently snoring in sleep.

  Sometimes he would stay awake afterward, and we would talk or cuddle some more for a short while. But we had already mated three times that day, twice just then and once that morning. That was the most he had ever done in so short a time. I think I had worn him out.

  But I could not help it. I felt near-insatiable sexually since the battle with the Xique. Even now I could feel again a faint stirring deep between my legs. I found myself becoming anxious for morning, when Lerner would be rested
enough for us to mate again. Somehow tending to my needs myself didn’t seem like a satisfying solution.

  My husband, ever the analytical sophontologist, had said earlier that I was compensating for being confronted with so much death by being obsessive about a life-affirming activity, like sex. Not that he was complaining, he quickly added, as at the time I was in the midst of shredding his shirt with my finger-claws getting it off.

  But I reasoned I had a lot to compensate for.

  After Dumas had shut the sound off, the Xique left. Just like that. They paid no attention to us or the corpses, both Myotan and Xique, they passed on the way out. Their task was done; they had ended the potential threat to their Prey Gods. That was the end of that, as far as they were concerned.

  We let them go. Both Cloud and Amethyst were for counterattacking them as they left the Tower, when they would be easy targets out in the open and least expect it. Cloud was especially hot for revenge, but our chieftain Flier quickly voted that strategy down. The Xique would just attack again. No amount of vengeance, he said adamantly, would be worth even one more death.

  Twenty-three of us were dead from the Xique attack. Twenty-three of my friends and neighbors, I had known all my life or, in the case of the five dead children, I had known all their lives. Over fifty were injured badly, some so awfully that they may never be able to lead normal lives again. Brightwind especially tugged at my heart. I was so grateful that he had just barely pulled through, but both his wing membranes had been torn up, his right so badly that we had to cut off the membrane to prevent infection.

  He still had years to go before the Sky Spirit would have taken the winds from him. Seeing his small, nearly-wingless body writhe in pain under his many bandages clawed at my heart in a way none of the other losses had. My husband tried to console me, saying that Brightwind was one of the luckier ones, that all he had lost was his wings.

  Only his wings!