by Clayton, Jo;
Skeen: Thanks a lot, Hop.
Hopeless: I’m no damn rabbit, Skeen.
Skeen: You and Timmy, sensitive.
Hopeless: You better believe it. I give myself this name and I don’t want to be called out of it. (Another electric grin, but it didn’t reach her eyes). Hear what I’m saying, or I pick up my counters and leave this game.
Skeen: Humblest of apologies, O paragon of exquisite sensibility, I abase myself before the delicacy of your soul. Shall I crawl on my belly and lick your feet? Hopeless. Hopeless. Hopeless. Hopeless.
Hopeless (her grin considerably more real): Gahh, nauseating idea. So. What do you think? How do we handle this?
Tibo: The Eye tell you what way he’ll jump?
Voice (gloomy and disapproving, Virgin sitting very still, hands fisted, eyes closed): For us to say, not for you to ask.
Skeen: I’d say we go out separately like we came in. You’ll be carrying the Ykx so you go quiet and pray the Eye can thread the needle for you. We go out noisy and pull most of what Cidder’s got after us.
Tibo: Point isn’t how but where.
Skeen: Virgin, any idea if the In-side of the Veil is infested like the Out?
Several Voices (Skeen can pick out three and maybe a fourth): Don’t … don’t go inside … no … spies … fear … inlaw and outlaw … paranoia … focused toward outsiders … too long a flightline … traps out … all probabilities negative … no …
Skeen (wrinkling her nose, drawing down her thick brows): That’s out, then. Hmm. You could drop straight down. It’d be easier to spot you there, but you might be able to get a lead on the snaggers and keep loose while we make noise somewhere else. No, not down. Up. Up feels wrong, don’t you get an itch thinking about it? Nobody seems to go up when they’re wiggling off a hook. So. Yes. Tib, it’s more than likely Petro’s shield is still good unless we land right on top a snagger. We need a distraction. You’re the house magician, what do you think?
Tibo: Harriers. What if we took out a few harriers? Make Cidder notice we’re around.
Picarefy: Eh, Tib, this is me, remember? I can outrun ’em, give me a decent start, but outgun a harrier? Forget it.
Tibo: Listen. When I was young and generally ignorant, I shipped out with Humbolt on the Heller Madre. One of his last prowls. He was in the middle of a delivery to the Shingalaree rebels when Hound Zachs stumbled over him. Zachs came cruising through the Swarm, looking over the scene, who knows why, with a harrier to watch his tail, if he had a friend nobody knew it. His snaggers were sitting back at his base over by Orion’s Knee because he was too cheap to spend the fuel when he didn’t think he’d need them. Humbolt did some fancy flying, swung the sun, got behind the harrier and rammed a missile up its butt. Almost got Zachs too, but he hit the panic button and flamed out of there with the missile chasing him all the way to Teegah’s Limit. He split intact, so Humbolt dropped his cargo fast and careless and went to ground in the nearest Pit. Humbolt was the only one I know of who ashed a harrier solo, but I suspect there were others who discovered that weak arse, because now harriers run in pairs or packs.
Picarefy: Pairs or packs. Tib, I still say what do you think I am?
Tibo: You’ve got Petro’s shield in place by now. No harrier’s going to detect it if the Kliu didn’t, so we hunt up a harrier pack with plenty of space between them and the nearest snagships, get into them long enough to thread missiles through their jecters, all but one, we need one to squeal for help and fetch Cidder running, then we split fast as you can drive us, Pic, and we hunt up another pack and play with them a bit. Cidder should be hooked by then, so we get the hell out of that section of space.
Picarefy: With an armada after me.
Skeen: Eh, Pic, didn’t you tell me you could outrun just about anything?
Picarefy: Given a good start.
Skeen: Well, we’ll just have to arrange that. Then we have to lose them.
The Virgin was talking inaudibly with her disembodied companions, detached from the discussion, looking inward at something she approved of because she was smiling and nodding her head. Then she blinked, looked straight into the pickups, turning her smile on Skeen.
A Voice boomed behind Skeen: The Shoals.
Skeen: Virgin, what …?
The Virgin had tuned out again and the Voices weren’t talking.
Skeen: Djabo’s horny toenails, Pic, what’s The Shoals?
Picarefy: A collection of vortices, soft spots and other miseries that penetrate into the insplit. It pulses so you never know when you’re going to find yourself in the middle of something that proceeds to eat you. Or pull you out like cold taffy. Or reduce you to subatomic powder. It’s generally out by the Brown Betty stars, but sometimes it moves. I do NOT want to go there.
Skeen: Hopeless, was that the Eye talking? And does the Virgin mean we should go there or we will go there?
Hopeless: Eye says will. Doesn’t say what happens when you get there.
Skeen: When WE get there?
Hopeless: Ah yah, nothing to do with Virgin and me.
Skeen: Lovely. You ready to go down?
Hopeless: When you give the word.
Skeen: I’d better let them know you’re coming. Pic, is there anyone in Workhorse? Good. Tell him I want to talk with the Kinravaly.
“Zem-trallen.”
Zelzony turned. Anki was standing in the arch where the stairs led onto the tower’s roof, her body vibrating with excitement. “What is it?”
“Kinravaly asks that you join her in the tug.”
“Ah! Thank you, Anki.” Zelzony crossed to the ramp, stopped at the Lip and looked over her shoulder. “Join me?” Without waiting for the page’s answer, she stepped to the edge of the Lip, spread her flightskins and dropped into the wind.
“The transport has arrived. We can land whenever you’re ready for us.”
The Kinravaly touched the end of a pointed tongue to the fold in her upper lip, frowned at the screen without really seeing it; she glanced at Zelzony but said nothing and Zelzony felt no urge to break the silence. “It is midmorning here,” the Kinravaly said. “There are farewells that have to be made, blessings to be given. We have waited to draw the names of the volunteers until the transport arrived, that has to be prepared. You gave us a list of necessaries for each of the colonists. The packs are in storage here and have to be moved to the site. We have gathered a thousand wings, these too are in storage, plus seed packs, ova and surrogate wombs; don’t worry, we have managed to stay under the weight limits, there is very little metal involved so weight for bulk is relatively small, but all that must be transported to the embarkation fields. Ah, give us two days, if you will. Day after tomorrow about this time. Does that suit?”
Skeen’s eyes shifted a moment, her mouth moved but no sounds came through the speakers. She nodded, then looked back at them. “Yes, that’s fine. Um, we’d like to put down in the lake. There’ll be some flooding, but less damage to the land, also, it will be easier to control access and guard against harm to your people. The water will rise about fifty wings, Kinravaly Rallen; your garden could get damp in the lower reaches.”
“It will dry again. You know your capacities better than we can, but what you say sounds reasonable. You have our leave to use the lake. Is there anything else we should do?”
“Nothing I can think of now. If something occurs, I’ll let you know.”
“All-Wise Bless, we wait your coming.”
Zelzony lingered after the Kinravaly left. “Picarefy?”
“Zem-trallen?”
“The young one. Rostico Burn. He’s still on Rallen?”
“Yes. Certainly. We informed you he wished to roam about a while more.”
“Will you call him, please, and ask if he will transport me to Yasyony this afternoon?”
“One moment.”
Zelzony sat stiffly erect, claw tips clicking a staccato rhythm on a metal plate set into the chair’s arm. Time … time … Picarefy said something about
the pressures of time … squeezing out the juices from Ykx lives. All-Wise Weeping, what must life be like when moving across half a world north to south takes hours not days. Or east to west, for that matter.
“Zem-trallen.”
“I hear you.”
“Ross says, be glad to. He can be there in somewhere around two hours. When would you want to leave?”
Zelzony tilted the rekkagourd hanging at her belt, read off the time, called up the time at Laby Youl. “Ah, yes. Two hours from now. That will be quite satisfactory. Thank you.”
Giulin was in his studio (two small rooms in a freestanding structure that was mostly given over to workrooms for the gardeners who tended the plants in the small and large greenspaces in the huge Giu clan compound at the south edge of Laby Youl). He was going through a batch of freshly sealed prints, sorting them into piles. More of his imager work was pinned in clusters on two walls, other prints were hanging from a line strung up by a densely screened window where air could move across them and help dry them.
When he saw who had come in, Giulin got hastily to his feet. “Zem-trallen.” He looked apprehensive; shadows from the memories she evoked settled onto his face.
“Your parents have said I may speak with you.” Zelzony spoke slowly, his haunted mistrustful look dismayed her. With an abrupt movement of her hand toward the prints, she said, “I have an offer for you that concerns your skill with the imager.”
Giulin glanced at the sheets he still held, set them on the table, looked around the small cramped room. “Maybe we better talk in the court, it’s generally empty this time of day … ah, Zem-trallen.”
“Yes. Of course.” Zelzony followed the boy outside into the pleasant grassy garden enclosed within two wings of the compound and a six-sided outer wall. It was a crisp spring afternoon, the sunlight brilliant and not too hot, a breeze wandering through treetops and occasionally dipping to wind across the flowerbeds and curl about several small decorative fountains. Giulin led her to a bench beside a fountain constructed from water polished stones and pebbles, planted with small curly ferns. A pair of budding lacetrees spread a delicate tracery of shadow over the wooden slats of the bench and the pale gray gravel of the path. Giulin waited until Zelzony was seated at one end of the bench, then perched himself on the other end.
As uncomfortable as the boy, Zelzony dredged up a smile. “Kinra Selyays showed me your prize prints; she was pleased with your eye and your technical skills.”
Giulin’s nostrils flattened with embarrassment, he looked away, scowled at the water cascading over the stones. “Thank you,” he said after a moment, gruff and abrupt. “What’s the offer? … ah, Zem-trallen.”
Zelzony drew her hand across her mouth, wiping away a smile the boy wouldn’t appreciate. “The starship will be landing day after tomorrow, the colony transport. I assume you’ve heard of the Mistommerkykx Lipitero and her quest? Yes. Well. Kinravaly Rallen has won from the aliens the right to send observers. Bohalendas will be on board to take measurements for the society of Seekers. I am to be the Kinravaly’s representative, there to make sure the aliens fulfill their contract with us, ortzin Marrinfej comes as my personal Aide. And there is one more place I can fill, that of Marrin’s Aide. If you wish it, Giulin, that place is yours.”
His hands closed into fists, opened, closed again; he swallowed several times, sat staring at the water, his shoulder turned to her, courtesy forgotten in the intensity of his reaction. He swung round, stared at her. “Why me?”
She frowned at him, then spread her hands. “To be honest, the offer’s to help me sleep better.”
“All that smik about my prints?”
“Not smik, Giulin, for me it’s a pleasant extra, but you’ll be doing the Kinravaly a service if you image the trip and the transfer through the Stranger’s Gate for her. Perhaps some images of the Other Side.”
“The family knows about this offer?”
“Yes. The decision is yours, your parents insisted on that.”
“How long do I have to think about it?”
“Ah. It’ll take a while to get the volunteers and their gear on board. Hmm. Take a senn’t if you need it.”
“Ah umm, how long will I be gone?”
“The aliens say a round trip will need a bit over half a year.” Zelzony got to her feet. “I’ll leave you to your thinking, Giulin. All-Wise Bless.”
Giulin got to his feet, looking shaken and uncertain. “Wait. A moment, Zem-trallen. I want to talk to my parents. How long are you going to be in Laby Youl?”
“I have to return to Kinravaly Reserve tonight, but I can spare another hour here.”
With a smile that came and went, excitement and uncertainty lighting his eyes, Giulin edged closer to her, touched her arm briefly, hesitantly. “I want to go. I think … I have to talk to my parents. Zem-trallen, you … I don’t know … I can’t …” A nervous giggle, a flare of his nostrils. “Thank you. In an hour. Please. I’ll say for sure then. All-Wise Bless.”
“Zem-trallen, yes yes yes. What do I do, what do I bring, when will I leave here, how, will you come fetch me, can the family go too, what …” Giulin shut his mouth and danced from foot to foot as Zelzony held up her hand.
“One at a time, tidal wave. Let me see if I can remember them. You don’t have to do a lot, fill a pack with a few things you’d like to have with you, put something in it to amuse you, bookfiches, games, fancy work, whatever you can fit in; the aliens tell me that starflight is rather like spending a long time in a small room with nothing much to look at. Ahh, I’ll send a skip for you about a week from now. Perhaps two skips if I can talk the aliens into it, so you can bring your family. If I can manage only one and they don’t mind a cramped ride, you can bring your parents but not the rest. The trip from Laby Youl to the Kinravaly reserve lasts a little over three hours. Bring your imagers, but don’t bother about matrices, the Kinravaly will provide them. When you get back we’ll sit you down in the University labs and apply the whip until you make history prints for every Gurn-set.” She smiled at the excited boy. “We’re going to work the tail off you, Giulin.”
“Ehh scuzza.” Visibly containing an urge to whoop and run up the house tower to do a soardance through the clouds, Giulin contented himself with a grin that threatened to split his face in half.
“Anything else?”
“Ahhh, that Min woman, will she be around? I want images of her more than anything.”
“The observers will be on the transport, not on Picarefy. Ah, that’s the alien Skeen’s starship. Picarefy tells me there’s some danger Beyond-the-Veil and Skeen wants to keep the Rallykx clear. Once we land, you’ll most likely get your images.”
“Saa saa scuzzAH!”
“I hear you, Giulin. One week. All-Wise Bless.”
The transport drifted downward, a long black teardrop; one moment it was no more than a dark speck passing through the thin high clouds, the next moment it was an immensity so awesome a sigh passed like the wind across the crowd. Down and down, settling feather light on the lake’s surface, nudging the water aside with deceptive gentleness, down and down until it reached equilibrium floating a handspan off the bottom. The water welled up with much the same gentle inevitability, swallowing the lakeshore and the surrounding hillocks, moving out and out with an eerie almost-silence, but Zelzony and her ortzin had moved the watchers and waiters to higher ground and none of the Ykx got their feet wet.
Breath caught in their throats, eyes wide, Saffron and Mauvi watched a round section of the black skin blink away and light shine out of a sudden opening that seemed tiny, like a pin prick, until a dark figure stepped into it and stood looking out at them. In an odd jarring switch, at first the lanky hairless alien was a doll less than a hand high carved from the darkest brown bitternut wood, then, abruptly, she was taller than most Ykx, and the pinprick was a portal three wings high.
“Woo ow, Mau, do you believe that?”
“Have to, don’t I.” She shaded her eyes, then p
ointed. “Look, isn’t that the Kinravaly?” A gold Ykx shimmering in the sunlight rode a gilded glittering wing soaring in high circles over the transport and the crowd.
“Must be.”
The Kinravaly looked down over the vast throng, faces turned to her like flowers to the sun. Her throat closed up and for several minutes she couldn’t speak. She swallowed and sighed, lifted the borrowed loud hailer. “Ykx of Rallen, the starship is here, the time has come to know the names of those who will leave us. The Talan fej Vosslar, servant of the All-Wise, will draw the cards, I Kinravaly Rallen will call the names, those called will come into the area set aside for them.” She stopped talking a moment, feeling battered by shuddering waves of hope and yearning, fear and excitement coming at her from the crowd, it was like wingriding over the caldera of an active volcano. “Begin, Talan fej, begin.”
