Analog SFF, July-August 2006

by Dell Magazine Authors

  Nia's tearful exhaustion crystallized into focus. The University Counsel said get back to Haven as fast as possible. That was all that mattered right now. Later, Nia wanted the end game to be on her own territory—interstellar law—and she intended to win. First, get out of the park.

  She returned to Elzebet's showroom.

  Wearing a dark green cloak with a geometric embroidered pattern, Martan gave Nia a slight bow. Somehow he had become a Wendisan man, poised in the spin-gee, relaxed and charmingly sly. Elzebet said, “Look at that. He can imitate the Wendisan male slouch!"

  Martan was no skulking assassin. He could blend in with a Wendisan crowd, find out secrets, probably outfight almost anything in the Wends. They would make it to Haven, Nia thought, with fierce new hope.

  Elzebet said, “For you, Nia Inanna, I have this nice thick shawl. Since your jacket isn't bulky, the shawl goes right over it and it's not obvious that there's a field jacket under the shawl. You'll be glad of the layers tonight with the wind chill. Doesn't midnight blue look good on her? You move like a visitor, you can't hide that—but this is what a visitor with style might wear."

  Nia stroked the material. “How much do we owe you?"

  “You can't pay for these things with Wendisan yen,” Elzebet replied. “For Denizen garb, it has to be native currency. You must cross my palm with silver."

  “We don't have any,” Nia said in sudden dismay.

  Elzebet chuckled. “Oh, but you do.” At the kitchen table in her private quarters, Elzebet proceeded to cut some of Nia's hair and rearrange the rest. “There. Paid in full. You look just like a fashionable interstellar visitor, not a university officer. And five years younger, too."

  Martan, who had watched the haircut with fascination, nodded agreement.

  “Now,” Elzebet said, “go to the entertainment quarter and blend in with the other winter visitors until morning!"

  “But I was hoping—” Nia stopped. Better not to say too much about their plans. “Can you give us any other advice?"

  “Think twice about going down the Highway, or up it. The highway robbers are out and about. Old Scratch has been seen prowling around the Back Gate. I won't be surprised if the Wild Hunt rides tonight. The Huntmaster would give anything to bag Old Scratch. But the Wild Hunt is no time for anyone to be on the Highway,” Elzebet said darkly, “least of all a pretty girl. Some in the Hunt are neither sane nor humane, when they're wilding."

  “I know.” As the Wendisan authorities smilingly told tourists, as they held out forms to be signed, releasing Wendis from responsibility for injury, monetary loss, and accidental death: Welcome to the Wends. Some tourists ended up being pieced together in the hospital, or dead on arrival. More rarely, but not never, Wendisans got killed in the Strange Range. Nia slowly reached into her jacket pocket. “Would you keep something safe for me?” She took the hugwort out. But it clung to her buttons. It thinned and spread out as she pulled it, but it refused to let go.

  “What in all the worlds is that?” said Elzebet.

  “An enchanted morning glory,” said Martan.

  “It's a species the university biologists found on the planet Jumala,” said Nia.

  “Look at those leaves—just like the glories outside my back door!"

  “It may be a created organism, a teratism,” said Nia, losing her struggle with numerous wiry green tendrils. “They think there was a lost human colony on Jumala. On Jumala the ecosystem is bizarrely dominated by plants. There is some evidence that an ancient colonist mixed Terrestrial genes into a Jumalan life form, before the colony died out."

  “Teratism or not, dear, it's certainly attached to you."

  “It may be hurt already,” said Nia, “and there aren't many like it."

  Martan sniffed the hugwort. “It doesn't have any bruised leaves. It's not all that fragile. It wants to take its chances with you."

  Nia reluctantly returned the hugwort to her pocket, untwining the last tendril from her index finger. She wrapped the shawl around her shoulders. “We've got to go."

  “Have this too.” Elzebet fastened the shawl with a slim golden pin bearing two faceted stones. “It's a nice finishing touch and a token."

  Nia gratefully closed her hand around the pin. “Will you be safe after we leave?"

  “I live in the Fair Country. My door is better defended than it may look to you, and I'm staying behind it until this trouble blows over. Remember, now, I say wait for tomorrow before you try any more gates. You can easily pass for two of two dozen lovers romancing in the Fair Country tonight. At least, use those Wendisan yen of yours to get a good supper!"

  * * * *

  They were two of thirty people dining on the restaurant's patio. The windows and door of the restaurant, closed against the cold night air, leaked syncopated music. From the patio around them came the murmurs of other diners and the clinks of cutlery in use. Naturally enough in the outdoor chill, Nia had her shawl's hood up, covering her telltale silver hair, and she attracted no attention at all. But her nerves stayed strung tight.

  Martan pointed to her plate. “Are you going to finish that?"

  “How can you eat?"

  “I might need the calories later."

  She shoved the plate, with a third of a trout and two thirds of the rice, toward him. “I can't feel hungry when I feel in danger."

  “You may not be in much danger. They may just be using you as a marker, remember?"

  “But if it were me, and I wanted to extract you from asylum in Wendis by foul means, I'd capture or kill the only lawyer in Wendis who understands interstellar law well enough to defend you against Faxe. I made the first inquiries for legal background information just five days ago. I was very careful, and I didn't expect it to precipitate something. But it might have."

  He held her eyes in his own dark gaze for a long moment. “Eat. You might need calories later too."

  She nibbled a curry bun from her side dish. “Are your modifications psychological and mechanical or genetic?"

  “Does it matter?"

  “There are legal protections for cyborgs. The gene-changed are a lot harder to protect, because they're a lot harder to deal with ... and unpopular. Wendis has treaties with a few gene-changed communities. You aren't a species, are you?"

  Martan shrugged.

  What had he told her earlier, about brain-training to make hellhounds reluctant to spill their secrets? “If I know what you are, I can help you,” Nia persisted.

  It seemed to take effort for him to say, “Martan is an alias. No radiation-mutated ancestors on Old Mars. I have old Earth normal genes. The changes were mechanical and psychological. The doctors here could have undone the mechanical changes—except—I didn't want to lose all I can do."

  Nia felt as though he'd opened a window into his soul and she'd seen one of the main cogs in his being. “You wanted to be a hellhound, but a redeemed one?"

  “You could say that. What's so funny?"

  “The university hired you as proctor,” said Nia. “You can see in the dark and hear fog flow. You have a grip impossible for a normal person to break. Those undergrads sneaking to forbidden places after curfew don't stand a chance."

  “Unfair advantage?"

  “Doesn't matter. Your predecessor was an incompetent political appointee. The whole faculty and administration of the university is glad to have a capable proctor for a change. They just don't know how capable!"

  Martan divided the last of the tea between her cup and his with a flourish, making the amber liquid slant to its destination instead of allowing porcelain to click on porcelain. Even if he'd had to struggle to say the truth about himself, he liked being admired for what he truly was, Nia thought. There was a lot to admire. “And you're polished. You're well educated. You fit in with the university culture. I thought you said you were born on Estrella."

  “Estrella is backward, all right, but I had a first-rate education after my juvenation and training. Lessons in etiquette, too. If we came off like
jackals, we'd never accomplish anything.” He smiled.

  Nia smiled back. Not just a slinking assassin, she thought, and not a monster. In fact, he was wonderful.

  Martan said, “I just remembered something. The thug thought a Jeng Family was behind this—that the Jeng Family had a bounty on us. One of the enemies of Faxe I eliminated was named Jang. Could there be a connection?"

  Nia sat back, suddenly uneasy. “The Jeng Family has relations Outside. Some of the Outside Jeng are very rich from interstellar trade, but not particularly political, that I've ever heard about. Jang might or might not be an Outside variant of the family name. What did your Jang victim do to get on Faxe's list of enemies of the Faxen Union?"

  “He was a religious cultist. A Shandiist."

  Nia could hardly believe her ears. “As in Shandy? Do you know about Shandy?"

  “Some kind of supposed god."

  “More like Satan. And Shandy has worshippers in the Wends.” As if they needed an unholy new twist in this game! “The low road is out. We don't dare go that way, not if Shandy's followers might be behind all this."

  Martan surreptitiously emptied her dipping sauce and his onto the remaining rice, and ate it in large spoonfuls.

  “What are you doing?"

  “The sauce is mostly oil. Good source of calories. Let's wander over to the edge of the terrace and admire the scenery, while I listen."

  Martan's supersensitive hearing must have picked up something, and he wanted to listen away from the noisy patio, Nia thought, getting up from the table with him.

  A wrought iron railing at the edge of the terrace offered a scenic view of Davos. The village lay on the slopes of its mountain like a thick rug shimmering with soft warm lights, apparently peaceful. But Martan indicated the far side of the village with an unobtrusive tilt of his chin. “I hear your Metal Man. The anthropologist. He's running on the highway into town yelling, the crusaders are coming."

  Nia recoiled. “Oh no! That's worse than highway robbers! They could lay siege to the village until every visitor is handed over!"

  “Maybe by warning everyone in earshot, he's trying to warn us,” said Martan. “We better get out of here."

  A tall fence separated the village from the forest on this end of Davos, but a silvery stream—a tributary to the small river in the center of the valley and village—raced downhill under the fence, flowing through a tall tube as a shallow clear layer of water.

  They dropped down onto the stream and waded uphill, through the tube, into the forest. On the other side of the tube high banks rose on either side. The streambed was smoothly pebbly. It would wash away their scent if something came after them that could smell spoor. But the water was snowmelt, and icy when it flowed into Nia's shoes. “My feet are cold—"

  At that moment, something separated itself from the dark bank ahead. It loomed up over them. It grunted gloomily.

  * * * *

  Martan glared up at the troll. He pulled out the thug's knife, ready to use it.

  From behind Martan, Nia grabbed his upper arms. “No!"

  “Why not?"

  “Watch.” She took Elzebet's golden pin with garnet stones off the shawl. She held the out to the troll.

  It stooped. A huge blunt thumb and index finger delicately closed on the pin and took it. Then the troll chuckled and shuffled back into a den in the steep bank.

  Nothing but a reek like wet dog mixed with curry came out of the troll's den as they hurried by. The troll did not reemerge.

  “What was that all about?"

  “It's the rules,” said Nia. “Give him jewelry or coins and you can pass."

  Martan swore under his breath and slipped the knife back into his pocket.

  Nia promptly tripped on a loose stone, going down on one knee with a chilling splash. Martan helped her up. A quarter mile further upstream, they crawled up the stream's bank. Nia was shaking with cold, and her knee hurt.

  Martan sat down with her and wrapped his cloak around both of them.

  “I want to be home in my own bed tomorrow morning with this a bad dream!” Nia said through chattering teeth.

  Martan rubbed her knee and held her close. He felt incredibly, miraculously warm. Nia gratefully rested in his arms.

  They were high on Zaber. Low-lying fog dimmed the distant city's lights to a misty gleam. But the center of the huge cylinder of Wendis was clear. The whole length of the sunspar was visible along the axis. It was night in Wendis now, and stars and nebulas streamed through the spar, images that imitated the cosmic environs of Wendis. The cylindrical city-state rotated once every five minutes, but to anyone in the sway of the centrifugal spingravity the cylinder seemed fixed in space, an immutable frame of reference, with a river of stars flowing through its long crystal heart.

  The most distant mountain in the Wend Range, Mount Chance, had a jagged peak that gleamed in the starlight. Specter loomed higher and nearer, made of darker stuff. All of the mountains of Wendis were curved like waves—and all of them had vertiginous blank backsides—but only Specter carried the pattern to completion. The black summit of Specter curled around the spar.

  Martan was looking up at the mountains too, with observant eyes that had seen other great and beautiful wonders, as he'd told her only a few hours that felt like a lifetime ago.

  Some interstellar wonders were very small. Nia checked her jacket pocket under the shawl. “It's all right. It may not be so eager to smuggle itself along on an outing next time."

  “Where to now, Inanna?” he said.

  He'd never called her Inanna before. Maybe he liked the name. She liked hearing it in his voice. For the first time in her life, that very Wendisan woman's name felt like it belonged to her. She was in the middle of the most dangerous game in Wendis, with a companion who was as dangerous as anyone in the Wends, but willing to follow her lead when she knew the way better than he did. She said, “The last tram to Haven leaves at midnight. We're in the highlands already. If we cut cross country to the Fair Lane, we'll have time to catch the tram."

  They started across a meadow carpeted with short, springy grass.

  “What if something goes wrong with the tram plan, too?” asked Martan.

  “At the top of Zaber is Lover's Leap."

  “That sounds suicidal."

  “It isn't. If you leap off, you fall down the back side of Zaber into a net in Haven. But I'd never live it down at the university."

  He may have been imagining the net with as much distaste as she was. That or something else was distracting him from listening for warning sounds. Nia and Martan both registered hoofbeats racing up behind them at the same moment, too late.

  * * * *

  A shape like a slender white horse dove between Martan and Nia, knocking Martan backward. It sidled on mincing hooves, pushing Nia away from Martan. Starlight glanced on a sharp, fluted horn.

  Nia tried to duck around the unicorn. Very pretty and very assertive, the unicorn blocked her, dancing sidewise on long delicate legs, driving her further away from Martan.

  “Stupid beast!” Martan exploded.

  Nia called back, “He's not stupid. I've met him before. He won't hurt me, but he's herding me. Prince, stop that!"

  “We don't have time for this!"

  “You tell him!"

  Martan seized the unicorn's horn. Prince furiously tried to shake loose, but Martan kept his grip on its horn and bared his fangs while staring Prince in the eye.

  Flank muscles tensing, the unicorn jumped straight backward. Martan let go of the horn just in time not to be carried along. The unicorn whirled and bounded away with its tail flowing like a gossamer pennant behind it.

  “He got the point,” said Nia, rejoining Martan.

  They scrambled up the rocky bank to the Fair Lane, which was paved with flat fauxstones. The Lane curved uphill, offering easy going the rest of the way to the tram station.

  As they paused beside the lane, Nia wondered about the unicorn's reaction to her, and Martan's
reaction to the unicorn. Had that been two males fighting over her? Prince had certainly been radiating male attitude. And now so was Martan, who had not retracted his fangs. Nia reached out to Martan's lips, exploring his fangs with her fingertips. “Oooooh. Sharp."

  “Do you want me to put them away?"

  “I'm beginning to think I find them strangely attractive."

  He kissed her fingertips and pulled her closer.

  Then an ululating sound ripped through the air, like a wail from a raw brass throat. Nia groaned. “It's the Wild Hunt. We can't go to the tram now. That's in their territory. God help us if someone told them what you are. Your pelt would be a bigger prize than Old Scratch!"

  “How do we reach Lover's Leap?” Martan asked

  “Up the lane, and turn at the intersection onto the High Road, and up and up and up."

  * * * *

  The Wild Hunt horn sounded several times more, and more wildly, but not any closer. The Hunt was staying on the other side of the Fair Country, in the rough terrain near the Back Gate where Scratch had been seen earlier. Old Scratch might be a prize they could not resist.

  “Better Scratch than me—or you,” said Martan.

  This high on Zaber, the air was thin and bitterly cold, the gravity low and hard for Nia to manage. She slipped her hand into Martan's. She'd stopped being afraid of him. She was afraid, but not of him.

  “Your hair is exactly the same color and texture as the unicorn's mane and tail,” said Martan.

  She shrugged wearily. “Probably the same genes. The unicorn is a teratism that dates pretty far back. Some of my distant ancestors on twenty-first century Earth had silver hair, but it was early genetic engineering rather than a naturally evolved trait. Everyone else now believes the old families on Azure are pure Earth-original genetic material. But that's not exactly true. Family secret. Don't tell.” Her family's secrets must seem like feathers compared to the weight of the secrets on his shoulders, she thought.

  Martan stroked her wrist. “You see, it's not automatic,” he said. “All of my fingers are touching your skin, and nothing bad is happening."