Poor Makana might have to go out in the wet once more, Rigi realized, and felt bad about it. “I can spray them if he finds some,” she offered.
“I don’t believe that would work, Auriga, because you do not have the proper forefeet to use the sprayer. Go change, please, and it would not be amiss to write letters of thanks as soon as possible.” She recited, “Gratitude, like flowers, fades if left unattended.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
First, Rigi logged into the comm system and called Uncle Eb and Aunt Kay. The screen showed their house identification, then a picture of Uncle Eb’s study/workroom/library/lair appeared, but no Uncle Eb. A blurry, very dark Staré forefoot moved across the screen. Lexi had taken the call. Rigi smiled and began counting. Before she got to five, she heard a grumpy voice. “Yes, yes, what? Lexi, I told you to set the auto response to tell him to go take a running leap into a hunter-lizard nest.” Rigi wondered who had earned her uncle’s ire this time. Then he appeared, looking a bit miffed and slightly scattered, his grey and white hair almost back to its usual length. “Oh, belay that order. Good afternoon, Miss Rigi.”
“Good afternoon, Uncle Eb. I gather you heard that I passed my certification test.”
He glanced away from the screen as if a bit embarrassed. “Ah, yes, I heard a rumor. Not that I had any doubts, given that you are the second calmest female on Shikhari, after Kay.” Lexi appeared behind her uncle and shook his head, ears going opposite directions. Then he eased out of the picture again. Apparently Lexi disagreed with Uncle Eb’s assessment of Aunt Kay. Given that she could curse with greater fluency than the majority of men Rigi had met, Rigi tended to agree with Lexi.
“Thank you for the flowers. They are lovely.”
“You are quite welcome. I’m sorry I can’t come for the celebration in person.” He grew sober, dropping his usual cheerfully, slightly-scattered persona. “There are some worrying rumors coming from the Staré communities near the Kenusha Plain, and De Groet wants me to come out and see if I can make sense of things.”
“Not political rumors, I hope, sir.”
He shook his head. “No, rumors of a new disease, at least, new to this generation. I suspect it is just that, a rumor, and what he’s seeing is, oh, a bad outbreak of itch mites or something like that. Or a lush crop of scratch mint.”
Rigi winced. “Ick. I do hope I do not encounter that plant again. Once was more than sufficient to convince me of its existence.”
“Indeed.” People who had never gotten into the stuff claimed that no sweet-smelling plant could cause an overwhelming skin reaction and itching. Once they met scratch mint, they changed their minds. And woe betide the poor souls who tried to use it like tea-mint! They usually spent the next week sedated, with a breathing tube in place, so they didn’t do something terrible as they tried to scratch their throats and mouths and... elsewhere.
Rigi smiled. “I’d offer to save you a piece of roast, but Cyril is here.”
“Your mother needs to marry him off, if only so Shona can have second-day meals again.”
A woman’s voice said, “Ebenezer Solomon Trent, when was the last time you left enough roast for more than sandwiches, pray tell? And three weeks ago does not count, because I cooked two roasts, one to put up.” Aunt Kay appeared, resting one hand on Uncle Eb’s shoulder. “Congratulations.” She smiled.
Uncle Eb patted her hand without thinking about it, or so Rigi guessed. “I’m outnumbered and surrounded. Lexi is standing beside the door, doing a most accurate impression of the Staré mannequin in the museum of species at the royal capitol.”
“And I’d best get ready for supper. Thank you again for the flowers, Uncle Eb, Aunt Kay, and I hope Mr. De Groet has only found scratch mint.”
“From your mouth to the Creatrix’s ear,” Aunt Kay averred.
2
Trouble Arrives
The next night’s supper exceeded even Shona’s usual high standards. And three small boxes arrived for Rigi, two from Staré and one from Mr. Sanjay Patel. “Auriga, do you know this person?” her mother inquired, looking at the tag.
“Yes, ma’am. He was the confused gentleman who mistook me for an associate of his, then misunderstood local customs concerning dances.”
Her mother considered for several moments. Then her eyebrows rose slightly and she nodded once. “Ah, now I recall the gentleman.” She stepped away from the boxes and gestured for Rigi to open them. Mr. Patel’s contained fancy sweets from a well-known confectioner and a note of congratulations. “Very nice, and quite appropriate,” Mrs. deStella-Bernardi said. Rigi could keep them. The other boxes held fresh fruit and a delicate length of Staré-woven ribbon, suitable for use as trim on a nice dress or scarf. “Please give the fruit to Shona to use, and you may keep the ribbon, since it is from Lexi.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She’d never seen fruit of that sort before, bright red and soft-looking, so large she didn’t think she could carry it in one hand. Rigi took the box to the kitchen. Shona seemed to be between tasks. “Shona, this arrived, from Tankutshishin. Mother said that you would know how best to prepare it.”
Shona blinked, ears flopping to the side, and came to look inside the box. His ears snapped to attention and he moved his lower jaw side to side. “This is a sleethn’kars, perfectly ripe. I have heard of such, but never seen one or had the opportunity to prepare and serve it. May I?”
“Please.” She set the box down for him. On impulse she said, “You may keep a few slices for yourself and the household.”
Shona washed his forefeet before lifting the fruit out of the box with tenderness Rigi usually reserved for handling babies. His eyes dilated and he sniffed the brilliant red fruit. “Ah, such a treasure enters a cooking space so rarely. Thank you, Miss Rigi. I will take good care of this.” She took the hint and left him talking quietly to the fruit in Staré. Apparently the Staré approved of her, and she shook her head a little as she went upstairs to her work area. Just what she’d done to earn such approbation still mystified her. She sat down and opened the network connection, then looked up the fruit. Her eyes went wide as she read.
Sleethn'kars grew in a tiny area to the north, on the equator, and cost an amazing amount those few days of the year when it could be picked and shipped. Only first Stamm and high seconds ate it by tradition, although they might send slices to others who had performed great service to their villages since the last ripening. Rigi felt a touch light-headed. Uncle Eb should have gotten the fruit, or Tomás. She hadn’t done anything so important! Rigi logged out of the network and got up. She splashed cold water on her face, reminding herself to calm down. Honors or not, she had work to do, including sketching drafts of the illustrations for the archaeological article Dr. Su Xian and Mr. De Groet were writing about the material culture of the pre-Colonial Staré. Technology might allow for perfect image reproduction of holos, but for some reason computer images still could not quite catch the nuances of some items and places and creatures. For that, the xenoarchaeologists and xenobiologists turned to scientific illustrators like Rigi and Aunt Kay. Rigi called up her drawings of the ceramics and wrinkled her nose. The rim of the bowl still didn’t look correct.
The smell of supper finally pulled Rigi out of her work, that and her brother’s large hand on her shoulder. “Shikhari to Rigi, come in Rigi.”
“Huh? What?” She blinked. “You’re home early!”
Cy straightened up and pointed to the time-clock on the computer screen. “No, I’m not, and it is time for supper. Or Father and I will eat all the amazing things Shona and Lonka keep bringing into the dining room.”
“Oh heavens!” Rigi saved everything twice. “I’m sorry. I was working and lost track of the time.”
“Indeed, you did,” he mimicked their mother. “You have three minutes before the pastries are mine.”
She changed clothes and tidied her hair in record time.
The sleethn’kars appeared inside pastry shells with smoked grazer-bird slices, as barel
y roasted slices beside a delicate poached fish that seemed light enough to float off the plate, and with a spun ginter-sugar glaze and cowlee cream as the sweet. “I do not believe we have had this before,” Mrs. deStella-Bernardi observed during the fish course. “What is it?”
“It is the sleethn’kars fruit that Tankushishin sent, ma’am,” Rigi said.
Her father blinked, looked at the plate, and back at Rigi. “Tankushishin sent slices of sleethn’kars?”
“No, sir. He sent an entire fruit. I told Shona to keep some slices for himself and for the rest of the staff.”
Rigi had never seen that astounded and somewhat distressed expression on her father’s face before. He looked down at the plate, eyes wide, and gulped. Now that she knew what the fruit, and her gift of some to the staff, meant, Rigi agreed with him. After more fish, he said, “It is a most generous gift, excellently prepared. Shona has truly risen to match the gift.”
“What do you mean, Timothy?” Rigi's mother looked from the bowl of custard to her husband and back.
“This fruit is reserved for the first and second Stamm, it is so rare. To be given a slice is considered a most unusual honor. To get an entire fruit, for humans to be given an entire fruit? I do not believe such has ever happened before.”
Her parents and brother looked at Rigi. She gulped. “Ah, sir, according to what I found, Capt. DeHahn received a fruit for assisting with evacuations during the Flood of Contact Year Two. But his is the only other instance I could find. I will send proper thanks tomorrow.”
“Yes, you will, and we will not speak to others of this gift,” her father stated, looking at Cy as he spoke. “I do not want people to make false assumptions or to misinterpret Tankutshishin’s generosity.”
Thanks be to the Creatrix that such a gift did not require anything in return, Rigi thought. She’d never earn enough credits to be able to pay for anything similar, if she knew what and how to give it without compromising Stamm. Tankutshishin could give things to lower Stamm, or to humans, but giving things in return required purification of the objects and consideration of his position and how an object might be interpreted by other Staré, and if it might interfere with religious observances since he lived in the Place of Refuge. Even though she’d grown up around the Stamme, Rigi still got occasional headaches from trying to sort everything out.
“This seems like a lot of fuss over a fruit,” Cyril observed after finishing his fish. “How large is it?”
Rigi set her fork down and held her hands chest-width apart. “Like so? Crimson red skin, just a little soft, with smooth, barely fuzzy skin. There is a white section in the middle where the seeds are, according to the botanical guide. The plants fruit every six years, more or less.”
After that, the rest of the evening’s table conversation seemed quiet and unexciting. Rigi savored the sweet course, even scraping the last bit of cream off the plate with the edge of her spoon when Paul distracted her mother for a moment. Shona usually reserved cowlee cream for thickening sauces and used wombow cream for everything else. After supper everyone moved to the family room. Lonka brought in coffee and tea, hand-bowed, and departed. Rigi started to read while her father looked at the day’s news files and her mother rocked Paul. Cyril shifted in his seat, picked up his file reader and set it back down, and fussed with a button on his jacket.
At last he blurted, “Mother, Father, I want permission to court Adele Canopa Sorenson.” His mother's eyebrows lowered a tenth of a centimeter as she looked at him and the corners of her mouth sank the tiniest bit. Cy flushed, repeating, “Ahem, that is, may I have permission to court Miss Sorenson?”
“It appears to me that you have been doing that in all but name for the last year, Cyril,” their father said from behind his news reader.
“Timothy,” their mother scolded.
Cyril turned even darker red, if that were possible, and Rigi struggled to recall if she’d ever seen him look so uncomfortable before. She couldn’t think of an occasion. After a long pause their father relented. “Yes, you have my permission to court her.”
“And you have my blessing,” their mother loosened Paul’s grip on the neck of her blouse, “Or will once your brother settles down. Young man, that is not polite.”
Paul smiled, showing four teeth, then said, “Thppppth! Brrrthp.”
“That comes from your side of the family, Timothy.” She stood. “Young man, you need a change and a bath, in that order.” Paul wiggled, kicking a little and waving his fists as he blew bubbles. Rigi pretended to be reading so she would not giggle or stick her tongue out at Paul behind her mother’s back. “Siare, draw Paul’s bath water, please. And Rigi, do not forget to mend your nice dress, since there are dances beginning in three weeks.” The door closed behind her and Rigi relaxed.
Maybe this would mean that Cy would talk about something besides Miss Sorenson? Probably not, Rigi sighed. He was worse than some of the girls, going on about their callers and suitors. Rigi had long ago added such talk to her mental list of “Things I Will Not Do When I Am That Age,” along with wearing yellow stripes and drinking anything blue or bright green. And wearing high-heeled slippers, assuming her mother would even consider allowing her to buy a pair. Once again she wished that she could be as graceful from the waist down as she was from the waist up. Well, the Creator and Creatrix gave different individuals differing gifts, and moping over large feet and sturdy ankles never solved anything. Rigi glanced around, didn’t see anyone watching, and flipped to the adventure story she’d sneak-loaded onto her reader. Her mother didn’t approve of books with shooting and kissing.
A week later, she found a message from Uncle Eb in her queue. She dealt with some business matters, then opened it. “Miss Rigi,” he began. “I apologize for the terseness, but the problem I mentioned in our comm conversation is, alas, not simply a lush crop of scratch-mint and too many curious hoplings. Micah was right. I detest it when he does that.” Rigi giggled, hearing her uncle sighing in her mind’s ear. The next words stopped her giggle. “This is a contagious illness that can be fatal if secondary infections set in. It begins with rapid-onset, out-of-season shedding. I need you to pass this to Capt. Prananda, and to alert the thumping network to avoid the Kenusha Plains until healers and medics can determine how it spreads. We do not know if humans are affected. Yours with affection and mild worry,” and his scrawl of a signature followed.
Rigi hugged herself, suddenly cold to the tips of her toes. Her hair seemed to be trying to crawl off the top of her head. How to let Tomás know, and the thumping network as well? “I’ll tell Makana. He’ll be going to the market later today, and he can start the alert.” Rigi looked at the screen, stood, paced a little, and sat again. Then she removed some of the identifiers from Uncle Eb’s message and sent a copy to Tomás’s personal locked account. She wasn’t supposed to know about the account, but they’d exchanged addresses so they could review archaeological documents without worrying about people intercepting the files and stealing the data. Her first encounter with predatory academics had been both eye-opening and disappointing. Adults were not supposed to behave so badly!
Uncle Eb had sent the message from his Crown account. For him to forget and slip like that, well, Rigi knew it had to mean Bad Things. She still did not know what he, Lexi, and Aunt Kay did for the Crown, but she knew it had to be important. Otherwise Lexi would not have a full set of body armor or know how to handle a modified human rifle. Rigi did not want to know, either. She liked Uncle Eb better when he was an eccentric word collector, and Lexi was his amazingly patient research assistant. Lexi in armor had scared her. Rigi hid the message in a special file that she usually used for embargoed projects, then logged out, cleared the memory, and went to find Makana.
He and his full brother Lonka were on the rear verandah. “ . . . no, and his sire has less sense than a wombeast calf, and he got half of that,” Lonka stated, //disgust/irritation// plain to smell.
Rigi made noise, then finished opening th
e door. The two males turned and bowed. She hand-bowed in return. “Makana, Uncle Eb asks that you pass a message for him.”
Lonka leaned forward a touch and Makana stood straight, ears rigid upright. “What message is that, Miss Rigi?”
“He asks to pass word that the illness on the Kenusha Plain is not scratch-mint, and for Staré to avoid the Plains until the healers and medics can determine what causes and spreads the illness.” Should she tell him? Yes. “Uncle Eb says it begins with very rapid shedding.”
The surge of //fear/dismay/near-panic// almost overwhelmed her and she started to wave the scent away before catching herself. Oh dear, if this was how the brothers reacted, panic might flood Sogdia and Keralita.
“How many have died?” Lonka demanded, manners apparently forgotten.
“None of the initial disease, but a second sickness can be dangerous.”
//Relief/fear/dismay//, and Makana’s ears twitched, along with his nose. “I will tell those who can tell the truth as Mister Trent speaks it.”
“Thank you, Makana.” She hand-bowed. Lonka hurriedly ducked around her and opened the door for her, bowing and puffing //apology// as he did.
After she went indoors again, Rigi stopped, thinking hard. Uncle Eb had not said to tell any humans besides Tomás, but . . . There was a person Rigi though might need to know, although she was not certain why, and she felt a little scared to approach her. Rigi decided to pray about it before she decided.
Three days later, Makana stopped the wombow cart in front of a small house in the surface-worker neighborhood. A scent of herbs and calming plants came from the compact garden in front of the cream-colored residence, and Rigi bowed a little before opening the gate. Makana followed, nose twitching from the conflicting scents. She stopped and made a full bow to a stone carving with the symbols of the Creator and Creatrix on it. The door opened and an elderly woman with calm eyes stepped onto the small porch. “Be welcome in the name of those who made the world and all its blessings,” she called.
Stamme: Shikari Book Three Page 3