Rift in the Sky

by Julie E. Czerneda

  “And not a dessert,” Aryl muttered.

  The Human ducked his head to look at her in that sidelong way he had when he wanted to ask an awkward question. “How much longer?”

  “Until she’s born?” Aryl shrugged. “Up to her.” Mother and unborn were tightly bound. When physically mature, the baby must relax her grip on that link for birth to take place. Not all had the courage or will, leaving it to a Birth Watcher to convince the unformed mind that freedom did not mean loss. Theirs was Seru.

  “Human mothers, nine monthgestation.” He smiled at her frown. “Sorry. Three seasons, Cersi.” A lift of the bioscanner. “This says your baby grows quicker than Human. How long for Om’ray?”

  Three seasons? That, she didn’t envy his Chosen. “This summer. Why?”

  “Oh.” He looked unhappy. “I wanted to be here.”

  Both Om’ray stared at the Human. “You’re leaving,” Enris said at last.

  He couldn’t leave, Aryl assured herself, swallowing hard. Her belief in other worlds was a fragile thing. Easier to believe in Marcus slipping into the abyss of the M’hir than taking flight beyond the sky. “I thought the Oud had found your Hoveny ruins. Didn’t they?”

  “They did,” the Human said in such a bleak tone Enris came to sit beside Aryl, sought her hand. “So I must go home. Stonerim III. Present preliminarydata to fundingcommittee. Orders. No one else qualified.”

  No one else could be trusted. That’s what he meant.

  She hadn’t guarded the thought. Aryl sensed agreement from Enris. This Human knew about the Om’ray, what they could do. He knew and cared.

  Would anyone else?

  She gave him back his question. “How much longer?”

  “Soon.” His hand floated toward the sky. “Starship coming. Special, for me. Cersi to be priority site.” There was a wry twist to his mouth. She understood. If he hadn’t met her, if they hadn’t become friends, he’d be celebrating. “A fist, less, then I go. Don’t worry. We’ll close site, temporary shutdown, pack all this. I won’t allow work here while I’m offworld. No one will disturb you.”

  “You’ll come back.” She didn’t let it be a question. Beside her, Enris nodded in Human fashion.

  “Bet on it! Yes,” to their uncertain looks. “They can’t keep me away. But I don’t know how long all this will take.” A shake of his head. “My people like to talk.”

  She’d noticed. To distract them all, Aryl reached for the turrif and broke it into equal pieces. “Then we must celebrate, Marcus.” At his blank look, “You’ll be with your family again.” He’d shown her the images he carried: his Chosen, Kelly, their son Howard and the baby Karina, his sister, Cindy. To be so far from them—she’d had trouble imagining it. Better to think of their joy. “They must be glad—”

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he interrupted gruffly. “Here. I have something for you.” Marcus tugged a white crate from one of the upper shelflike beds and dropped it on the table, Enris rescuing his piece of turrif just in time. “You should take this. Keep it safe.” The Human broke some kind of sealing material with his thumb. “The Oud have sense of how old things are. These are not old enough—not Hoveny artifacts—so they discard them. Not worth show me.” He lost words when excited. “They right. Not Hoveny. But I find. I know what they must be. The tracecontaminants confirm it. These—” he bowed at them and threw open the lid, “—are yours.”

  Enris understood first. “Om’ray devices?!”

  “We can’t be sure,” Aryl cautioned, wary of the eagerness bubbling through their link. Before she’d met him, an Oud had brought something to Enris and his father, curious about its function. Enris had discovered that the small cylinder, torn from a larger device, had technology he could affect with his Power. It contained voices, talking in a language he hadn’t understood. At the time, it made little sense. Having met the Strangers and learned something of Cersi’s past, he’d become convinced Om’ray had once possessed devices to do much that the Strangers could now. “Wait.”

  But Enris leaned to look in the crate.

  Disgust!

  He flung himself back, knocking a precariously balanced stack and scattering the Human’s belongings to the floor. As Aryl and Marcus stared, Enris collected himself. “Where did you find them?” he demanded in a strained voice.

  The Human, anxious, looked at Aryl then Enris. “What wrong? What do wrong?”

  “Nothing. You’ve done nothing. It’s—” Enris ran his fingers through his unruly black hair, then gestured apology. “Where?”

  Aryl, puzzled, reached for the crate.

  Her Chosen barred her way with his arm. “Don’t get close.”

  Annoyed, Aryl tried to see past him.

  NO!

  “What wrong?” Marcus repeated. He put his hands into the crate and lifted them full of clear wafers, like smooth chips of ice. “These harmless,” he insisted. “No energysignature.”

  “They aren’t harmless to the unborn.”

  “Enris?”

  He looked right at her, and Aryl’s heart pounded at the foreboding in his eyes.

  “The Vyna call these the Glorious Dead.” His mouth twisted. “You wanted to know what happened to Sona’s Adepts? They’re here. Right here. Waiting for their chance to live again.”

  Interlude

  ONCE SURE ARYL WOULD stay back, Enris controlled himself. No need to snatch up the crate, run to the waterfall, and toss its repugnant contents into the Oud’s pit. Not yet. Ex plaining himself to his Chosen—presently regarding him with that hint of challenge—and their friend—who appeared miserable—had to come first.

  “I watched a Vyna Chosen press one of these over her unborn child,” he told them, doing his best to sound calm. “They claimed it held the personality of a long-dead Adept, complete with all the knowledge and Power from the past. That the Adept would be reborn in that child.”

  Something he said made Marcus relax. “Datadisk,” the Human offered, holding one of the wafers between his fingers. It caught the light from the glows; colors slid over the white walls as he moved it back and forth. “Need a reader. A device to take information from this, so anyone can see. Harmless.”

  “Om’ray technology.” Enris tapped his own head. “What if the reader is inside? I told you about the device the Oud brought us, that I could touch with my Power. This could be the same.”

  Aryl frowned. Usually he liked it when she needed to be convinced. Nothing kept him sharper than her quick mind. Not this time. “You must believe me,” he told her. “These are dangerous.”

  “Did you sense it? The Adept replacing the baby?”

  He’d done his utmost not to sense anything or anyone in that Council Chamber. Between the Vyna and whatever leered through the window of their sunken Cloisters, he’d known his only protection had been his shields. “No. But they believed it. So do I.”

  “Say I believe it, too.”

  Aryl made a choked noise as she turned to stare at the Human. “You?”

  Marcus almost smiled. “Teleportation?” Point made, he dropped the offending wafer into the crate and sat, waving them to do the same. “Why would they do this?”

  Enris hesitated.

  “These Om’ray, the Vyna,” the Human continued, taking time to choose his words. “All you’ve told me about them is they want to be left alone. That no other Om’ray should go there. If this is true, why would Vyna want a baby to have self of Sona Adept?”

  An excellent question. One that should have occurred to him, not a Human. “I don’t know,” he admitted, chagrined.

  Aryl scowled. On learning about Vyna’s treatment of him, she’d wanted to confront their perverse Council to express her opinion; he hoped in words. “I can guess,” she ventured grimly. “Adepts have more in common with each other than with anyone else. Secrets. Power. Training. Maybe Vyna’s Council values those where they don’t value Om’ray lives.”

  Marcus closed the lid. “What do with these?”

&
nbsp; Aryl sat back, her hands folded, leaving the decision to him. The pit or . . . ? Enris stared at the crate. Secrets. Power. Training. Did he really know what the Vyna had done or tried to do? Nothing about them made sense.

  What if the wafers were what Marcus first assumed: a record left by Sona, waiting only for the right device to read them?

  Was he dismissing the Om’ray technology he’d sought so long?

  “The Oud find these with bones, Om’ray bones, in a cave behind the waterfall.” Marcus took his piece of turrif, turning it over and over in his hands as if deciding where to bite. “People tried to hide there, to protect what mattered to them. Your people. The Oud threw these away.”

  Will you? That was the question behind the gentle voice.

  “They can’t be near Aryl, near anyone who’s pregnant,” Enris heard himself say. “We can’t take that risk.”

  The Human nodded vigorously, eyes bright. “Safe here, if you want.” He wrinkled his nose. “Soon too safe. Extra security.” At their puzzled looks, he spread his hands. “Danger, people die. Doesn’t matter. No budget for repulsionfields. No protection, us, from Tikitik or Oud. Problems our fault. My fault.” This, low and troubled. He looked up. “If First confirms intact Hoveny find here, with possibility of activeinstallation, this small place will suddenly become more important than thousands of other Triad, other Hoveny sites. Understand? Go from lowest potential to highriskvalue. Suddenly we rate orbitalscanners and dedicatedpatrolruns. Protect things, not people. Always our way.”

  “Not yours,” Aryl said firmly. “You care.”

  Marcus patted her hand, another familiarity they allowed the Human. Husni would be horrified.

  They unloaded crates into the storage building.

  Marcus was taking samples with him to another place, a place with decision makers who cared about things.

  Enris realized he’d broken his turrif crisp into crumbs. “Say you were to trade these old things, these Hoveny artifacts, to someone,” he said lightly. “What could you get in return?”

  Despite his easy tone, the question brought the Human half out of his seat. “No! I not trade! Never!”

  Not what he’d asked. He sensed Aryl’s confusion. His dear Yena struggled with the concept of a mutually beneficial trade between two Om’ray. In her view, an object’s only worth was if someone needed it, and whomever needed it most should have it. Fine in the canopy, where everyone’s life depended on the whole.

  He’d come from a different Clan and understood immediately. The Human had been offered something for the artifacts and refused. These old things, however useless to Om’ray, had value to the Strangers. Value worth protecting.

  Value that was dangerous.

  Clang!

  “Don’t worry,” Marcus said quickly, as if relieved by the interruption. “Oud outside. It’s how they call me to the door.”

  CLANG!

  “I’m coming!” The Human grumbled something in his own language as he got up and went to the door. He didn’t open it, consulting a small screen to one side. “Their Speaker,” he announced.

  “Good.” Aryl rose to join him, her grace making poor Marcus look clumsier than usual. Doubtless, she did the same to him, Enris thought. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that this superb Om’ray had Chosen him.

  He would keep her safe.

  He didn’t look at the crate of Glorious Dead.

  “You go,” Enris said, stretching as if lazy. “Marcus and I will finish the turrif.” Be careful.

  A flash of warmth; a trace of relief he pretended not to notice. Her mind grew focused on the task ahead. All I can do is try.

  CLANG!

  Aryl opened the door. “Stop that,” she ordered impatiently. “I’m here!”

  “Goodgoodgood . . .”

  The door closed behind her.

  Marcus hesitated, his hand on the control, and looked at Enris. “You sure it’s all right to leave her with them? Alone?”

  How could he be?

  But one thing Enris did know. “We’d be a distraction.”

  Marcus nodded listless agreement. He waved the turrif. “All for you, Enris. I’m not hungry.”

  Enris pursed his lips, ignoring the food. He wanted to trust the Human. To an extent he did, though how much of that was Aryl’s belief in Marcus, how much his own?

  The Human couldn’t read Om’ray emotion. He was disturbingly good at reading Om’ray faces. Whatever he saw on Enris’ brought Marcus slowly from the door, to stand within reach. “There is no trade,” he stated. “Not by me. Not of my work. Not of this.” He moved his hand to draw a connection between them. A smile that didn’t light his eyes. “But you were right to ask. What we’ve collected . . . the samples—” a nod at the door, “—I’ll take with me. I could trade one item and retire—stop working. I could live in comfort for the rest of my life, travel wherever I want, not worry.” He sat on the edge of his bed, hands on his knees. “There are people who would pay—trade—anything for verified Hoveny artifacts.”

  While he had no idea what “anything” might mean to the Strangers and their vast Trade Pact, he wouldn’t say no to a bioscanner and Marcus’ healing technology.

  It hadn’t been offered. Nothing would be, Enris realized abruptly. “But not with the Oud. Or us.”

  “No.” The Human blew out a breath, then ducked his head to look up at Enris. “Not my idea, Enris. Not a Human one. Before we came, before the Commonwealth reach this far, this space governed by species already here. The First. They made rules for those searching for what remained of the Hoveny Concentrix. The search must be by Triads. Triads must be of different species. Discoveries must be shared. Include Humans. Good rules.” He grimaced. “One not good rule. On worlds with vestigialpopulations, with people who no longer remember the Hoveny existed, or maybe later colonists who never overlapped—lived together—any discoveries belong to the Triads. These,” he pointed to the crate of wafers, “are yours. The Cloisters are yours. The artifacts are not.”

  “Do the Oud understand this? That you’ll take what they’ve found?”

  “Think so. Hope so. Maybe.” Marcus looked older, weary. “Oud don’t want the artifacts. They want to know what they are for.”

  “What is?” the Oud had asked him. Enris would never forget that day. “Why?”

  Another sidelong look, something of a smile. “Oud are makers. They want ideas, more and more ideas. What could be made? What would it do? How to make it—they work that out themselves. Busy. Always busy. Like you, that way.”

  He bristled. “They are not,” Enris said through clenched teeth, “like me.”

  “Not like you,” Marcus agreed, too quickly. “Because some Oud want something else. They want to know why they are here.” His toe tapped the floor.

  “Here. At Sona?”

  An appraising look. A second tap. “On Cersi.”

  It was as if the floor tilted, or the light changed color. Aryl had warned him how mere words could make the Human suddenly strange and terrifying. That if they weren’t careful what they asked, Marcus could change their world the same way. He hadn’t understood.

  Until now.

  Enris found himself short of breath. “The Oud,” he said finally, firmly, “have always been here. Like the Tikitik. Like us.”

  Marcus considered him silently for a moment, then made the gesture of apology he’d learned. “My mistake.”

  There was nothing on his face but kindness.

  Without touching him, without reaching for the Human’s feelings—certain to cause Marcus pain—Enris couldn’t be sure.

  He didn’t need to be. After Marcus Bowman was willing to believe what he’d told him of the Vyna and the Glorious Dead, he, Enris di Sarc, had refused to make a similar leap.

  Failing a challenge as real and as important as any he’d faced.

  And the Human pitied him.

  He pushed the crate on the table closer to Marcus. “Best these stay here. For now.” And stood
.

  Marcus rose too. “Enris—”

  “Don’t—” he began and stopped, ashamed, unsure why.

  “I must. Listen to me. I should be more careful what I say. What I ask. I know better. Did Aryl tell you, she ran from me? Almost died because of my foolish words? Because I forget you are not Human.”

  Enris clapped Marcus on one shoulder, in Human-fashion. “A mistake we’d never make, my friend.”

  I’m done. Finished your snack?

  “Aryl,” Marcus announced. At Enris’ startled look, “Your face says so.”

  Perceptive in the oddest ways. “Aryl,” he confirmed, then took both of the Human’s shoulders in a gentle grip. “Listen to me, Marcus. Don’t be more careful. Tell us what we should know.” He shook his head ruefully. “But maybe not so much at once.”

  “I understand.” But as Enris turned to leave, Marcus held his wrist, palm against bare skin. An invitation. Lowering his shields just enough, the Om’ray sensed goodwill and determination. “Something you must do. Before I leave Cersi. Wait. Wait.” Muttering to himself, the Human rushed away to dig through the disorganized mass of objects on a counter. It was a wonder, Enris thought with amusement, any of the devices continued to work.

  “Wait! Must take these. Should have done before.” More muttering.

  Enris?

  Our Human’s being his confusing self.

  He’s not the only one. But she didn’t feel concerned.

  Marcus emerged triumphant, clutching what looked like a pair of pink eggs attached by a metal thread. “Here!” He pressed the eggs over his eyes, the thread behind his head, then pulled the device off and thrust it at Enris. “Sleepteach. You learn Comspeak. Both? Maybe no,” he appeared to be arguing with himself. “Not Aryl. Wait for baby. You. You can learn now.” When Enris didn’t take them, unsure, the Human shook the little eggs, making them click together. “Everyone in the Trade Pact uses same words. Use this, you will understand anyone. Everyone.” A fleeting frown. “If it works for Om’ray. Should. Won’t harm.”

  Enris? A tinge of worry. She was picking up his doubt. What’s going on?

  It’s complicated.

  Say no. To whatever it is.