Amid the Crowd of Stars
Page 6
* * *
Saoirse could see the flitter hovering above the Pale Woman, a fuzzy, indistinct shape in Saoirse’s vision. Uncle Angus and Liam saw it, too, undoubtedly better than she did. “Is that feckin’ Terran going to follow us anyway after I told her she couldn’t?” Angus asked, looking at Saoirse, who could only shrug.
“How am I supposed to know what she’s going to do?” she answered. She was holding the boom line for the sail. The currach was running before a strong following wind; that and the outflow current from the harbor had them making good headway. Her uncle and Liam were using the oars mostly to keep the bow pointed toward the harbor opening; Angus had lowered the centerboard to give them extra stability in the rolling waves.
“Yer the one who spent time in the pub with the Terran instead of looking for one of the Mainlander men,” Liam said. He grinned. “Mam will be disappointed in yeh. Yet again.”
“Just shut yer gob, Liam,” Saoirse snapped at him. She squinted toward the flitter. “Look,” she said, “she’s moving away now. I think she just wanted to find out if she could see the Sleeping Wolf. She said she’d heard about it but hadn’t yet seen it.” The flitter had turned and banked sharply, heading back toward Dulcia and the mountains behind. “Are yeh happy now, Uncle?”
“I’ll be happier when we’re back home,” Angus answered. He peered sharply at the sky and the sea ahead of them—Angus had always had excellent vision, though he complained that cataracts were beginning to blur and darken things for him. “But we should make it back just before the storm front reaches us. We’re making good time with this following wind. With any luck a’tall, we’ll be back on Great Inish before High Third.”
The luck stayed with them. There were just starting to pass the first of the Stepstones when they heard High Second ring out from the bell tower on Great Inish. The wind had stayed strong and with them the entire time. As they moved along the line of low islands that were the Stepstones, Saoirse could see a rippling disturbance on the surface of the waves around them caused by a school of wrigglers feeding on purple algae. A nearby flock of bright red flapjacks from the Stepstones had seen the wrigglers as well. They circled overheard, the undulating edges of their flying surfaces tightening and contracting as they repeatedly dove into the waves, breaking the surface a moment later with a wriggler or two snagged in the seine-like teeth of their mouths. The flock gave off the high-pitched keening wail of satisfaction as they gulped down the wrigglers, circling high before diving again.
Their boat was suddenly surrounded by a hard rain of plummeting flapjacks, white splashes rising all around them.
“Should we try to net a few of the flapjacks for breakfast tomorrow, Uncle Angus?” Liam asked.
“Yeh know we can’t do that,” the Rí answered.
“No one would miss a few flapjacks from this crowd,” Liam groused. “Just because the arracht have put them off-limits lately doesn’t mean they won’t taste as good as they always have.”
“Neh,” Angus said. “And that’s the end of it.”
Liam sighed. A flapjack rose from the water immediately alongside him, showering him with salty drops. As it started to rise, it regurgitated a pale stream of wriggler guts which landed heavily across Liam’s shoulders and flat cap. Liam flailed wildly at himself as Angus laughed and Saoirse smiled despite her irritation.
“Ah, they were listening to yeh,” Saoirse said. “And they didn’t like what they heard any more than the arracht would.”
“Very funny.” Liam ducked as another flapjack hit the water behind him. He slapped his flat cap on the gunwale, scowled at the resulting smear, and put it back on his head. “Let’s get home,” he said. “I need to take a bath.”
* * *
This time, she was the one calling Luciano, though the commander was in a meeting with Captain Keshmiri and other officers and wasn’t available. She talked instead to his AMI, who promised that he’d be notified that she’d called as soon as he was out of the meeting. Luciano’s AMI was decidedly feminine with a smoky voice and what sounded to Ichiko like an overdone Italian accent; she’d sometimes wondered if the AMI was modeled on someone Luciano had once known, a lover perhaps, but she’d never asked.
Still energized by her encounter with Saoirse and the Inish, she left her room and walked around First Base, enjoying the sensation of being out of the bio-shield, breathing air that didn’t smell and taste of being “canned,” able to touch anything she wished. As she walked, Ichiko pressed her thumb to her finger with all the pressure she could muster and was pleased to finally see the light go off.
“Doctor Aguilar, having a problem?” The question came from behind her. Ichiko turned to see Lieutenant Bishara looking at her, not quite smiling.
“Ah, Lieutenant Bishara. Just a little issue with my AMI contact.” She held up her hand. “I’ll need to have someone look at it when I’m back up on Odysseus.”
Bishara nodded. “My AMI’s been acting up a bit, too—I’m thinking it’s the lag between here and Odysseus. Have you been enjoying your time out in Dulcia, Doctor?”
“So far, it’s been interesting,” Ichiko answered. “And please just call me Ichiko. There’s no need to be so formal.”
“Ichiko,” the lieutenant said, as if she were tasting the word. “Then you should call me Chava—at least when we’re not in front of the people working under me.”
“I’ll remember that.”
“Have you eaten yet since you’ve been back?”
Ichiko shook her head, suddenly aware that the only thing she’d had in hours was the thick, bland paste sucked from the bio-shield’s food compartment. Her stomach growled at the thought of actual food. “No, I haven’t.”
“I’m just off duty and was heading to my office for dinner. I can have Cook send up an extra plate: vegetables from the hydroponics bay on the ship and tofu masquerading as chicken, I think. Though I’m trying to convince them that irradiated and cooked sheeper or bluefin would be safe—and hopefully better tasting. The Canines seem to like eating them, anyway.”
Ichiko narrowed her eyes a bit at the use of the term but said nothing—no need to alienate the person in charge of her current residence. “I’ll remember to ask Commander Mercado to add me to your petition. But veggies and tofu sound delightful for now.”
Ichiko saw a flash of azure light as Chava passed the request to her AMI, then she said, “Follow me . . .”
Chava’s quarters were spartan: plain, unpainted metal walls enclosing a paper-littered desk, a bed, a furled holoscreen on the wall opposite the bed, a small kitchenette area, and a small table with four chairs set around it. On the desk was a frame displaying a looped shortvid of a family, with Chava in uniform smiling between two children, a girl who looked to be about ten and a much younger boy. A man stood behind the three of them, his hands on Chava’s shoulders as the loop started. “Your family?” Ichiko asked.
“Yes,” Chava said, smiling as she looked at the vid. “That’s me with Geoff, and our kids Aria and Owen. That was taken not long before Odysseus left.”
“That must be hard, being away from your family for a decade or more.”
“It is. I won’t really know them or recognize them when I get back—Aria will be at least 21 by then, and I’ll have been absent for half of her life. It’ll be worse with Owen; at best, all I’ll be to him is a few pictures and vids and some vague memories. But . . .” She took in a long breath, looking away from the images. “Geoff and I divorced when I accepted this mission. He has the kids and is already remarried. Last I heard, wife number two was pregnant. So they’re all part of a new family now. They’ve moved on—and I’ll do the same.”
“I’m sorry, Chava.” Ichiko put her hand on the woman’s arm, pressing lightly. Chava smiled, tight-lipped, at the gesture.
Her eyes were glistening in the room’s lights.
“Don’t be,” she said. “It was my choice and it’s better this way, for all of us. Our marriage was always on the rocky side, and my accepting the Odysseus mission was just the final blow.” There was a knock on the door. Chava went to the door and opened it; an ensign entered, pushing a cart. He put the covered plates on the table, saluted Chava, and left again with the cart.
“We should eat while it’s still hot—believe me, it tastes best that way. Wine, tea, coffee, or water?” Chava asked.
“Whatever you’re having.”
“Water and coffee. Go ahead and take a seat.” While Chava prepared the drinks, she spoke over her shoulder to Ichiko. “Are you enjoying being out and about on this world?”
“I’m not sure ‘enjoying’ is the right word.”
“Let me guess. The bio-shield?”
“You got it. The worst part of the job is having to move around in a little bubble of fake Earth while all around me there’s this new alien world, with people like us walking around entirely unencumbered. I can’t smell the sea or feel the wind or touch anyone or eat or drink anything. It’s . . . well, it’s frustrating. It’s not much better than just sending out a camera-bot and watching on a screen.”
“But it’s necessary,” Chava said. “And you know that probably better than I do.” She came to the table and set a mug of steaming coffee and a tumbler of ice water in front of Ichiko, then did the same for herself. She lifted the covering from the plate and sniffed. “Ah, the lovely fragrance of ship food. Not being able to smell that might be a blessing.”
Ichiko chuckled at that. She lifted her own plate covering—the odor was familiar, much like every meal she’d eaten over the last five years of the voyage here. She remembered telling Saoirse about the smell of dashi back in Japan; this smelled nowhere near as appetizing. “You may be right.”
“Just wait until you taste it and you’ll know I am,” Chava added. “I understand you met one of the Inish today.”
“Chikushō,” Ichiko muttered.
“Excuse me?”
Ichiko lifted up her hand, showing Chava the glowing tip of her ring finger. “My AMI keeps activating itself on its own. It’s really annoying.” She pressed the finger hard with her thumb; the light went off. “Sorry. How did you know I met an Inish?”
“Minister Plunkett called me earlier,” Chava answered. “He wanted to know why you were spending so much time with ‘that feckin’ nasty Inish girl.’” Chava’s imitation of Plunkett’s accent made Ichiko grin. “Those were the actual words he used, so he obviously wasn’t happy about your choice of companion. Nothing we do goes unnoticed here, if you didn’t already realize that.” She lifted a fork laden with unidentifiable green-and-white chunks and put it in her mouth. “Hmm . . . Needs more soy—would you pass it to me?”
Ichiko handed the bottle to Chava. “Why would Minister Plunkett care that I was talking to one of the Inish?”
“Oh, I think he’s just afraid we’re going to give them more attention than the Mainlander clans. He was really pleased when the medical staff up on the ship sent back the two Inish because they had that terrible fungus in their skin.” Chava closed her eyes momentarily and again did a recognizable imitation of Plunkett’s voice. “‘If yeh were wantin’ t’give our world an enema, that’s where yeh’d be stickin’ in the feckin’ tube.’” Chava grinned. “Who knows, he might even be right. Did you know we’ve lost three drones out in the archipelago?” She sprinkled brown sauce over her plate before glancing at Ichiko’s face. “You didn’t? Then maybe I shouldn’t have told you. Tell your commander you heard a rumor about that, then see what he says. Makes you wonder if the Mainlanders don’t have it right about the archipelago being a strange and dangerous place.” Chava pointed with her fork at Ichiko’s plate. “You really should eat that while it’s still hot. You don’t want to try it lukewarm; I think that’s even worse than cold.”
Ichiko took a bite, mostly to think about what she wanted to ask. It tasted like ship food, but it did start to take the edge off her hunger. She took another bite and swallowed it before she spoke.
“Are you saying that the Inish took out the drones? I know they’re suspicious of us, and they don’t seem to like people prying into their lives. Still—” Ichiko would have said more, but Chava was shaking her head.
“It wasn’t the Inish that did it, from what I heard,” she said. “Something else. Something stranger.”
“What ‘something else’?” Ichiko asked Chava.
“That’s for the commander to tell you—or not. Officially, I don’t know any more than what I’ve already told you, and I probably shouldn’t have told you this much. So fill me in about these Inishers you met,” Chava said. “I’m curious—and I’m sure your commander will be, too, so you can practice what you want to tell him on me . . .”
* * *
They’d left behind the last and largest of the Stepstones and turned toward Great Inish, passing the long beach at the foot of Great Inish called the White Strand and sailing into the narrow, sheltered cleft that led to Great Inish’s only quay. Despite the lateness of the cycle, Saoirse could see people gathered at the cliff face above them and at the top of the steep path up to the village. Already several of the younger ones were running down to meet them at the quay. “Mail’s here!” they shouted as they ran. “The Rí’s back. Candy!”
“Are yeh sure yeh’d really want to leave this?” Saoirse heard her uncle ask as she loosed the halyard line and dropped the sail, letting Liam row the currach to the stone jetty that waited for them. There were several other currachs already tied up there, the Inishers knowing that a storm was coming in. “It’s a sad thing already, the way Inish young men and even women are moving to the mainland and taking up residence with other clans. Now, if the Terrans let us go back to Earth, the drain on the clans is only going to get worse.” Angus spit over the side of the boat. “Would yeh really want to go back there with the Terrans, Saoirse? Is spending yer life here that awful?”
Aye, ’tis. “No, Uncle, it’s not awful. It’s just . . .” She shook her head. He wouldn’t understand; he didn’t want to understand. She’d tried to explain her feelings a hundred times already and failed: with Angus, with her mam, with others on the island.
Angus sighed. Reaching down, he heaved the coiled bowline onto the jetty, where one of the youngsters caught it and pulled them in as Liam shipped the oars.
“Ah, my dear niece, yeh don’t have to answer,” Angus said. “I know. I know.” Saoirse sniffed. But yeh don’t know. Yer just saying that. As the bowline was tied around one of the rocks, Angus continued. “I worry about our future here. There are already too many temptations for the young ones, and the Terrans are adding the largest one yet. I may end up being the last Rí and yer mam the last Banríon of the archipelago. That would be a true shame. And who’d look after the arracht?”
“The arracht can look after themselves,” Saoirse retorted. “The way they always did before we came here.”
Shaking his head, Angus stepped out of the boat and onto the quay with his mailbag draped over one shoulder; now that they were out of the salt spray, Saoirse slipped on her glasses to see better. Everyone crowded around the Rí, with calls of “Mail for me?” from the adults and “Candy?” from the youngest—the Rí always brought candies as well as mail back from the mainland.
“Back up an’ give me a chance, now,” he said to the hands plucking at him and those calling his name and asking if there was a letter or candy for them. “When we get to the top, I’ll hand out the mail. And aye, I have candy as well. There’s stu
ff enough to carry up and distribute before the storm gets here—Liam, open up the locker and hand out what’s there . . .”
The chattering, noisy throng set out—aunts and uncles, cousins, and siblings from both Clan Mullin and Clan Craig, among them Saoirse’s younger sister Gráinne (the right side of her face liberally marked with plotch). They walked up the rutted dirt path to the top of the hill where the village and the clan compounds were set, overlooking the white-capped expanse of sea between Great Inish and the mainland. On the grassy sward at the top, the Rí finally stopped, sitting on a mossy boulder. He set the mailbag between his knees, first pulling out small paper bags of hard candy and tossing them out as the children squealed and started running after the packets, while Angus started distributing letters and other missives, calling out the name of the person to whom each was addressed.
Saoirse had carried up the cloth her mam had asked for. She called Gráinne over (a packet of candy clutched in one hand), handed her one of the bolts, and together they left the Rí and Liam in the middle of the crowd, moving past them up the lane toward the Clan Mullin compound.
The compound was a cluster of a few dozen buildings gathered like thatch-capped mushrooms on a large, rocky knoll with narrow lanes winding between them. A drystone wall as high as a person had been erected around the base of the knoll, though over the long years stones had fallen from the wall in several places and never been replaced. The iron gate set in the wall was, as always, wide open, the hinges so rusted that Saoirse doubted it even could close—Clan Mullin and Clan Craig had no quarrels with each other, unlike some of the clans, and it was unlikely that any of the mainland clans would ever care to attack the compounds. That time was, thankfully, long past.
The Banríon’s house was near the summit of the knoll, one of the largest of the buildings; Saoirse and Gráinne made the long trek along the main lane winding up the rocky hill. Six-legged milch-goats looked up from chewing contentedly on the sparse grass of the hill to watch them pass. Saoirse still lived with her mother Iona, Liam, and a smattering of uncles, aunts, and those aunts’ children in the Banríon’s house, which also served as Banríon Iona’s unofficial “office.” The top half of the main door, as usual, was open. Gráinne had run ahead, calling for their mam as she pushed open the bottom half of the door. Saoirse could hear her still calling as she vanished into the cool darkness beyond. Saoirse followed her. “We’re back from Dulcia, Mam,” she shouted. “I have yer cloth from the weavers.”