by Sharon Lee
Yulie could just about identify the stalls and stall owners when the edge of his hearing was tickled by an odd sound. It was not one of Surebleak's rare birds, but it bounced around considerably, and it wasn't an aircraft. It was a more like a moan, speeding up and then down, rising and decreasing in volume . . .
Whatever it was, it traveled the road, a tail of dust behind it, rapidly approaching the dimly seen tollbooth, and just as rapidly charging through, all the guards standing aside.
The distant market folk were as transfixed as he, and the sound grew both closer and louder, and down slope he could see the glint of the vehicle. It came on, shiny as dew on the grass, scattering walkers and small carts out of the way. It rushed at him, silver glinting from all the polished surfaces, and he stepped into the gully, trying to push back the panic that rose in him.
The vehicle charged on, not pausing.
Unless the driver was mad, there was only one place it could be going.
To his house.
Yulie turned and began running, up hill, toward home, the cabbages banging at his back.
* * *
The morning had been considerably hectic and much more uncomfortable than expected. Pat Rin had never expected to miss the wallow of his mother's landau but the rattle-filled car was simply not up to the paving, or lack thereof, on this section of the road he supposedly controlled. He'd gone to the road's end once before, at a stately pace, some twelve days before his expedition to Liad, but that ride had been marked by ceremonial stops at each of the tollbooths, exchanges of gifts, small sips of whatever the local Boss thought potable, and the inevitable meeting of the first three or four ranks of each tollbooth crew.
This expedition was frantic from the outset. The portacom call had shattered rest, and the breakfast thrown onto the table soon after had been functional and little else. In need of speed, they'd all drunk some of Cheever McFarland's blend of coffee, which no doubt multiplied the current feel of dangerous speed. McFarland's unfinished mission of the day before haunted them now.
Awake on need, he heard the unmistakable timbre, not of Shan's voice or Val Con, as he might expect, but of the rapidly socializing brother of his cousin.
"Boss Pat Rin yos' Phelium Clan Korval, Master Gambler, I give you greetings. I have sighted the landing zone indicated and, following my brother's wishes that this portion of his art be conducted as smoothly as possible, I have entered into a course arriving there this day. I look forward to seeing you again as we walk together with my brother."
And that was that: the tree was landing.
He'd tried of course --
"There are preliminaries, Edger, yet undone. I do not seek to school you in haste or --"
Uncharacteristically, Edger had spoken over him.
"My brother is in the throes of what may be his most elegant and urgent artwork yet. I will not fail him in this, as my delay in earlier matters of art interfered in the work in progress. We will walk together soon, you and I, and discuss this art."
"Wait at least until --"
"Before the local sun sets on the site, you will assure me that the way is clear."
And that had been the end of the conversation.
"How many more?"
"We're not there yet, Boss. Two more."
"Excellent!" is what he said, but the ceaseless cry of the siren drowned him out as he fiddled with two piles, one printouts of old company records and the second hastily written legal papers based on the admittedly thin standing his title of Boss gave him. The other standing he held -- he looked down at his ring -- that standing was certainly an odd one as well. For the first time in memory there were two Korval Clan rings. Val Con wore his, the proper original, worn and fractured as it was, while the one recognized here on Surebleak was the wonderfully crafted counterfeit given him by the Department of the Interior. Not that the materials were counterfeit, but that the whole of it was part of a scheme to turn Korval into a puppet of the Department. And now…
And now Korval was depending on him as much or more than ever.
"Can we go faster?"
Gwince managed to shake her head and avoid a lumbering truck full of squash at the same time, eyes briefly on Pat Rin through the rear-view.
"If you say so, Boss. The car's already gonna need fixing when we get home."
"Do it."
They could and they did. Cheever McFarland's overflight had spotted the apparent landowner to home and not carrying a long gun, and now they rushed past Boss Ira's second tollbooth without acknowledging the various attempted salutes as well as the gestures that were not, quite, salutes from those clearing way for him. Ahead, when he looked, the Boss could see farmers hurrying to the side, and the occasional lurch showed that not all of the travelers used enough alacrity, even with the siren. They'd have to push on the emergency vehicle protocols.
"Little more coffee up here Boss," Gwince told him. "You want it?"
"I do not. If it keeps you sharp, I suggest you use it."
They came that quickly to Melina Sherton's hold, and screamed through it, still scattering people before them. Gwince said "Last one, Boss," rousing Pat Rin from an inner debate on how many items of Code he'd broken today. When his mother arrived from her missions no doubt he'd receive particular tuition in his faults.
One last straggler before them, knapsack bouncing, gained the gully ahead, and then open road past the farmer's market, and perhaps some chance of a successful negotiation.
* * *
Yulie wasn't like Rollie -- he spent no time swearing -- but he was running now on adrenaline, a situation that always put him pre-panic. Not good to have strangers in the yard, not good to try to do this all himself, not good to --
He stopped his rapid march, stomping his feet at himself. The "not good" was more dangerous than anything, right now, because it took thought from him
Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, felt his feet on the ground, the knapsack on his back, the growing breeze on his face. He opened his eyes, slowly, and stretched.
Overhead was the new moonlet, bright and motionless in the light, larger maybe than it had been, but, motionless.
That, of course, was unlikely. Anything that size in low orbit should visibly move. He craned his neck and saw no evidence that it moved.
He closed his eyes again, staggering when he opened them, and the moonlet remained there.
The other option was that the moon was larger than he believed, and in the synchronous orbit, always to remain overhead.
He faced forward, looked up.
No change.
He held no confidence in the idea that the moonlet was hovering, but --
He shook his head, saw his shadow, looked to the sky, where a small cloud's shadowed underbelly came between him and the moon. And then revealed the moon, giving the momentary sense that the thing was moving … but then as the cloud distanced itself it was clear that again, the moon was not moving perceptibly.
He felt like bolting, like hiding and covering his head until everything went away. That hadn't worked though, and he'd gotten behind --
"Doing something is better than doing nothing," Grampa had told him more than once.
He'd been doing something. He better just do it.
Keeping his head level, eyes forward, he snugged the knapsack and took a step. Then another, a little faster, and then another, faster, not quite coming to a trot. The cats needed him.
* * *
The kitchen was tidy, if one ignored the cat on the countertop. Pat Rin had been trying to ignore it, but it was large enough to do damage if provoked, and who knew what might provoke it, as skittish as it was, and the landowner alike.
His eyes were brown and wary, and he had a right to be wary. His movements were disturbing in some odd way -- skittish. Like he suddenly might jump for the door, or for the gun on the wall, or for Pat Rin himself at any moment. It was by main force of will, Pat Rin thought, that the man Yulie sat at all.
"Melina told me ab
out you," he said, "she told me I should send to you. She told me I ought to go see you, but I didn't. She said you were an even-handed Boss, the best she's seen."
Pat Rin spread his hands slowly, turning the extremely modest bow he'd started into a nod.
"I'm pleased she speaks well of me," he admitted, "it makes one feel worthy of being Boss. Boss Sherton told me of you as well," he said; "of your holdings. Of you, as a farmer. She speaks highly of you as well. And that is why I am here, you see, because I have taken it upon myself to hold the road open, with the help of the other Bosses. It is good for farmers, it is good for the Bosses, and it good for the Port."
"But this thing about the road -- "
Pat Rin nodded.
"Yes. I have asked you if you are fond of the old ditch, and you tell me no. I repeat that what I need, as Boss and as member of Clan Korval, is a place for my kin to live. It will be a change for you, to have such near neighbors, I know, but understand, these are neighbors who will appreciate your right to privacy. In addition, they will assist in the upgrading of the road, and they will assist in Boss Sherton's plan to take the road, starting at the farmers market, toward the sea."
He'd begun, had Pat Rin, as soon as the man's cat had stopped stropping at his legs, as soon as the man had managed to catch his breath in front of the low house, with the baldest statement of his mission he'd been able to formulate on the bouncing ride.
"I am Boss Conrad, also known as Pat Rin yos' Phelium. I come as both to purchase access through your land to the abandoned pit, for my kin. Your own lands and fields will be untouched."
They'd stood in a tableau for some moments, both aware of the unnatural moon hanging above, neither admitting it was there until finally the cat had stretched to Yulie's hand, seeking a head rub. Gwince remained around the car, talking complaints into a recorder, saying things like "quarter panel scrape passenger side, gonna need filling. Door gonna need …."
The man had glanced at Gwince, and pointed toward the house, saying, "And I'm Yulie Shaper. I guess we better talk. Come on in."
There were on the table ten cantra pieces, all of which had been examined minutely, and two tested with a knife, and there were two cups, one of which held coffee of a very potent scent, and the other, which held a fragrant tea.
"Melina Sherton never told me you was crazy."
The laugh came unbidden, a natural and not a social laugh, and Pat Rin nodded the point.
"Nor did she say that you were. It appears that the times make us crazy, Yulie Shaper."
Yulie's skittishness lessened, which put the cat at ease. The cat retracted feet until it rested like a furry log on the counter, eyes on Yulie.
"That's real money," said the farmer, touching the coins again. "Out there, that's Worlds End, and that's real. How's anybody going to live there? Nothing there but old bedrock and streams that don't go nowhere. Let's look at the reality of the situation. How can ten cantra be a balance for all that empty?"
"That empty, as you put it, that is precisely what is needed since Clan Korval has contrived, with the assistance of relatives and friends, to bring the house itself, much as the company brought here prefabbed units, growing chambers, stasis storage bins -- "
Yulie sat straight, bringing the cat to sit straight as well.
Pat Rin raised his hands away from the table and looked the farmer directly in the eyes, speaking soft-voiced.
"Yes, we do have those records -- we know -- but it is of no matter. Please understand that I am far too involved with other matters . . ."
The calm voice seemed to help, and Pat Rin spread his hands, ring bright. He tapped the ring thoughtfully.
"Mr. Shaper, had I personal designs on being a farmer I'd have thought no better place exists on Surebleak. You have the lands that were prepared with excellent soil by the company to sell stock, the equipment meant to hold food for ten thousand workers, and likely active grow sheds and prep rooms… and I come to you and request you sell access because building other access routes would be difficult, and unpopular. Personally, I have no designs on being a farmer, and farming has never been a family business. You might inquire of Boss Sherton, who is assured I have no interest in holding farms given the many I might have owned by now all in the hands of those who know what to do with them."
The man settled, nodding. The cat settled, too.
Pat Rin sipped at the surprisingly good tea, no doubt due to those stasis bins he'd mentioned. Yulie Shaper sipped at his fragrant coffee.
"Your world will change somewhat, when the house is …. installed. For some measure of traffic, there will be traffic, but it will be passing traffic. The clan is not large, and historically we spend much time in travel. But the location of that empty is perfect for us, and I think for you. "
"Suppose I want to sleep on it?"
Pat Rin declined to put on his card-player's face; and kept Boss Conrad as tightly controlled as he might.
"That would be unfortunate from my viewpoint, as my kin are in transit, along with the house. The clan's ships are arriving even now…"
"Saw that," Yulie nodded. "Big ship orbiting. Did you use that to figure out the spot?"
Pat Rin sighed lightly.
"We used that to bring the clan and possessions. We used it to leave our home world and come here. Mr. Shaper, the only practical place for the clan house to go is someplace very close to the road, yet not in someone else's territory. Boss Gabriel tells me he has no plans for the place you call World's End. Boss Sherton says the same. Your claim here is perhaps the strongest claim on a piece of land on all of Surebleak, the Port notwithstanding. It is impractical for us to move the Port, as you must know. We tried to reach you sooner, but you were not speaking with visitors."
"This is sudden --"
He stood up, did Yulie, jerkily, pushing away from the table with a clatter. Pat Rin wished he'd brought Anthora or Shan, or Priscilla, all of whom were Healers. Clearly, there was need here for calm --
Yulie spun around, touched the cat. There was a pause, and Pat Rin wondered if the gun on the wall could actually be loaded, since the man looked at it, touched the cat again, before he sat down heavily in the chair, pulled it to table, eyes staring into the distance, troubled.
The fist that hit the table was firm, and not impudent.
"Didn't answer," Yulie said.
Pat Rin bowed. Boss Conrad sighed.
"Mr. Shaper, my kin will be taking over that location. They will put the clan house and all that comes with it there. And they will do it soon. What we ask is for an access road. The contract is clear: ten cantra now and one per Standard Year in the future to lease access as long as the clan uses it."
He paused, suppressed the pilot's clear-the-board hand motion, continued.
"If you say no, the clan will put the house there and take away a hill or hills and do whatever else is necessary to reach the city over on the farside, through wastelands."
"Why don't you just take it?"
Pat Rin sighed, then.
"Mr. Shaper, I have done many things to make Surebleak workable. I have taken things. What I wish to do is to make things work well, and to deal honorably with the world. I wish not to take it. I wish to trade for it, just as you wished to trade your cabbages for what you need."
Yulie was holding on to his coffee cup now as if he was afraid it would jump from his hands, a lucky thing that he'd had so much of it already.
Pat Rin stood up, bowing.
"I will not just take it," he said so quietly that it might have been for his ears rather than Yulie's, and reached for the pile of cantra on the table.
Now it was Yulie's turn to show placating hands. Pat Rin saw them, left the coins where they were while Yulie's unschooled face showed decision crossed with doubt before finally giving way to words.
"Promise me -- write it in the contract -- that your people won't shoot my cats. And I want you here when they put the house in, and you'll tell them so there won't be any -- accidents. Writ
e it and sign that, and I'll sign it."
Pat Rin glanced up at the cat on the counter, thought about Silk, thought about Jonni, who some called his son . . . and nodded.
"I can do that, Mr. Shaper. I may need a moment or two in order to compose it, of course."
"Take your time. But when do you think you'll be back?"
Pat Rin lifted an eyebrow.
"Be back?"
"Yes. When will they put the house in?"
Pat Rin lifted a hand to stay the query as he wrote, and then signed with a flourish, which became an offer of the stylus.
"Here, Mr. Shaper, do you agree as well, if you would."
Yulie read the words several times and mumbled "Good cats," or something like, after reading "welfare of cats shall not be imperiled" and nodded, and signed a scrawling hand that nearly filled the bottom of the sheet.
"Good, here." Yulie handed the sheets back as if they were precious, then asked "When will they be here -- I should move some of the rocks on the edge and . . . "
"When? I expect just before dusk."
"But when? What day?"
"Oh, I expect before dusk today, Mr. Shaper, today."
* * *
The rock, the moon, was almost down now; they'd followed it bright in the day, and then seen it shine through from behind light clouds. Now it was half enveloped as the light faded, and so close that it seemed it might crush them all were one wrong move made by the pilot.
Sounds came randomly: booms of lightnings from planet to moon, echoes of the winds, crackling noises as small portions of the moonlet were shed in puffs of dust. Surebleak had few birds, but they all appeared to have gathered in welcome, the preternatural light of a setting star bounced off a descending moon giving the birds' shadows the length of an avenue.
The word from the city was that all was quiet; which was good -- the news that Boss Conrad was in charge was unreasonably accepted as evidence that there would be no problem, no matter the appearance of a moon falling ever so slowly on the upcountry tilt of land that supplied the city with food.
