The Kindly Ones

by Melissa Scott

  Most of Ixora's crew was at the entrance to the shelter-domes, hauling the sledge out onto the packed snow. Ixora herself stood to one side, the weighted tail of her whip curled neatly over her shoulder, shouting orders. Seeing us, she broke off and came to join us, scowling a little.

  "Trouble?" Rohin asked.

  Ixora shook her head, still frowning. "Not really. But we need the warm-up runs badly."

  "I'm sorry Zimri's sick," Rohin said, and Ixora's scowl deepened.

  "So am I. And so will he be, if he's not better by tomorrow." She snapped her face mask into place before I could decide if she might have intended sympathy rather than a threat, and turned back to her crew. "Right, Tabat, that's far enough. Harness up."

  Rohin took two long steps backward, out of the way of the handlers, and I copied him as the first of them moved toward the pen. One energized the inner fences of the narrow harnessing pen, which opened off the main pen, and then a second man positioned himself at the far end of the harnessing pen, waving a stained red rag. The jacks turned toward him, bellowing and snorting. Another handler, a woman this time, snapped her whip expertly over the leaders' heads, driving them back, until she had made room for the animal she wanted to enter the harnessing pen. The chosen hoobey, a big, brindled jack, charged toward the end of the pen, but stopped, snorting angrily, before it hit the fences. A handler snapped on the inner gate behind it.

  Instantly, a team of handlers was swarming all over the massive jack, some clinging to its broad undercollar, doing their best to steady it for the others, who would fit the harness itself into place. It took nearly fifteen minutes to get the weighted collar over the jack's shoulders, but the animal quieted perceptibly when it was done, and the rest of the harness was quickly snapped into place. I recognized the webbing they used to secure the hoobey to the sledge—it was spacer's standard emergency line, capable of taking the full thrust of a small flyer—and wondered again if I were doing the right thing.

  Once the lead animal had been put in harness, it was easier to get the rest of the team in place ahead of the boat-shaped sledge. As Rohin had promised, this was not a racing team. Ixora had four jacks, the maximum number, put to the sledge, but instead of a jill, the jacks would be following a scrap of scented rag expertly manipulated by a second driver. Ixora walked along the line of hoobeys, tugging at pieces of the complicated harness, then nodded to her chief handler, who dragged the lead animal around so that the sledge faced out of the camp, toward the flat snow-plain. Another pair of crewmen, Tabat and another man I did not know, scrambled into the sledge, throwing their weight onto the levers of the twin steering brakes. Ixora nodded again, still standing just out of reach of the lead animal's teeth, then beckoned to us. I hesitated, and Rohin grinned.

  "Nervous, Medium? I didn't think you were—unadventurous."

  That put me on my mettle. Without deigning to answer, I stalked over to join Ixora, the dignity of my gesture somewhat hampered by the ankle-deep snow. From less than an arm's length away, the hoobeys seemed even more massive than they had from a distance. The lead animal shifted uneasily on its thick legs, trying to turn its maned head far enough to the side to get a good look at me, and Ixora snorted.

  "Great ill-tempered brute, aren't you?"

  The hoobey swung its head toward her, its garnet eyes rolling nervously, and she smacked its velvety muzzle, ignoring the spade-shaped teeth that snapped closed a scant centimeter from her hand.

  "Yes, you are," Ixora crooned. "And ugly, too." Her voice seemed to steady the animal, and I saw that the rest of the team quieted with it.

  "Which one's this?" Rohin asked quietly.

  "Antenor, out of Nirvana," Ixora answered.

  "Crossbred," Rohin observed with a grin, and Ixora frowned.

  "As good as any purebred out of Axtell herds, that's for sure."

  Rohin laughed aloud, and I realized he had been deliberately baiting her. Ixora realized it, too, and colored. "It's a good beast, anyway," she said. "Isn't it, Medium?"

  "I'm no judge," I answered.

  "Look at him," Ixora began, and there was a shout from the sledge.

  "Hey, cousin! Are we ready yet?"

  "Coming!" Ixora shouted back, and gave Rohin a look that promised to continue their argument later. "Get up, dragsman."

  Rohin grimaced, and Ixora added, "You, too, Medium. Tabat!"

  Rohin was already trudging through the disturbed snow to the side of the sledge, and I followed him. The Demi-heir pulled himself easily over the polished edge, stepping over the men on the steering brakes, and then climbed into the brakesman's turret at the back of the sledge, built like the sterncastle of an ancient ship. The front of the sledge curved up, balancing the heavy turret, to support the driver's platform. I was just putting off the inevitable, I realized, and took a firm grip on the thick wall. Tabat extended both hands to balance me as I hauled myself aboard, but somewhat to my own surprise, I hardly needed his support.

  The interior of the sledge was heavily padded, and there was a padded bench set into the hollow of the prow, just below the driver's platform. At Tabat's nod, I seated myself there, wrapping both hands around the padded grips, and felt the vibrations as Ixora climbed to her place above me, knocking the snow from her boots. I braced myself, looking back toward the brake turret across the bent backs of the crewmen crouched over the levers of the steering brakes. Beyond the haze of the camp lights, bright even against the starfield, I could see the lights of the Axtell Tower, crowned by the bluish glow of the brightly lit greenhouse.

  "High up!" Ixora shouted, her voice fluting clear in the bitter air. "Lights!"

  Tabat released his grip on the brake lever long enough to flip a switch set into the floor of the sledge. "Lights on," he reported.

  "Confirmed," Ixora answered, and Tabat pulled a protective cover across the little row of buttons.

  "Brakes on!" Ixora called, and the two men leaned hard against the steering brakes. There was an unpleasant crunch as Rohin threw his full weight against the drag and its teeth bit into the packed snow. "Sideboys up."

  I couldn't see precisely what happened at first, but then the sledge gave a little jump, and two more people, both women who had been part of the group harnessing the hoobeys, swung aboard, trailing long lengths of the emergency line. They settled themselves into the cockpits just forward of the two brakesmen, feet braced against the bow walls, and hauled in their lines, looping them once around low bollards set into the padded floor. They were wearing heavily padded gloves that made their hands three times their normal size. Sideboys were there to control speed, not direction, I remembered belatedly, so it didn't matter that they could hardly see over the side of the sledge.

  The prow shook again as the second driver climbed onto the platform, and then Ixora shouted, "Stand clear!"

  The sledge rocked again as the handlers released their hold on the hoobeys, and the sideboys leaned back hard, checking the animals' desire to bolt. "Set!" one of them shouted, and a penned jill bayed back at her.

  "Brakes off!"

  All three brakesmen released their levers at Ixora's call, and in the same instant, the drivers' whips cracked sharply. The sledge shot forward, almost throwing me out of my seat. I tightened my hold, wincing at my wrenched shoulders, and braced my feet against a ridge I discovered in the floor of the sledge, beneath the padding. The right-hand sideboy looked up briefly, and I thought I saw an encouraging grin beneath her mask.

  "Down left!" Ixora called, and Tabat leaned to his lever. In the rear turret, Rohin leaned forward a little, just letting the heavy drag touch the snow. In the same instant, the sideboys adjusted their own lines, slowing the hoobeys slightly. The sledge swung sharply around, steadying onto the rutted snow of the practice track. It was a beautiful piece of teamwork, and I caught my breath in admiration.

  "Quarter out, the sides," Ixora ordered, and the two women bent forward to the bollard, letting out their lines. I could feel the hoobeys' pace quicken, and leaned f
orward cautiously to peer around the edge of the prow.

  The force of the wind was like a blow: I hadn't realized how fast we were already going. I blinked away the tears before they could freeze, and saw the Garnock Plain stretching away ahead of us, lit up for almost a kilometer ahead by the beams from the sledge lights. There was another sledge on the horizon, visible only as a smear of light against the black outline of the mountains. I thought I caught a glimpse of a marker banner silhouetted against that light, but then the other sledge had turned, and it was gone.

  The sledge bucked as the runners struck snow rutted and torn by other racers, and I felt the whole structure give a little skip sideways before the brakesmen and sideboys had it under control again.

  "God damn you, who said brake?" Ixora shouted, and the sideboys exchanged glances. The right-hand brakesman gave a little shrug, both hands still on his lever.

  "Easy now, Ixora," Tabat called.

  "Quarter out, I said, sides," the driver shouted, giving no sign she'd heard the brakesman.

  "Quarter out," one of the sideboys shouted back, and Ixora's whip cracked again, urging the hoobeys on.

  I let myself fall back into my seat, a little unnerved by it all. I hadn't realized mere animals could make anything move so quickly—or maybe, I told myself, the darkness and the featureless snow made our progress seem faster than it really was. I didn't really believe that, not after the way the sledge had started to skid, and took a tighter hold on the padded grips.

  "Half out," Ixora called, and the sideboys loosed another turn of line. The sledge lurched as the hoobeys took up the slack. "Full out!"

  The sledge rocked and slithered again—another patch of rutted ice —but the brakesmen didn't move. Ixora's whip cracked, pointing her leaders, and the sledge steadied. She gave a shrill yelp of triumph, and I leaned forward again, clinging to the grips. We had picked up even more speed, the hoobeys running flat out in pursuit of the rut-smeared rag the second driver dangled tantalizingly just above the leader's nose. The snow flashed beneath us, ghostly white; ahead, the marker banner swelled perceptibly in the cone of light from our lamps. There was no sign of the other sledge. The rush of wind was bitter cold, and I was very glad of my fur cloak.

  Ixora let us get within about two hundred meters of the marker before she ordered the sideboys to take in their lines a little, slowing the sledge for the tight turn around the banner. Rohin leaned on the drag as well, keeping the sledge from running up the heels of the hoobeys, and the thin scree of the ice beneath the drag's teeth set my teeth on edge. The sledge bucked as we hit the part of the track already pitted by other sledges' brakes, and Ixora shouted, "Down left!"

  Instantly, Tabat threw his full weight against his lever. The sledge skidded a little, moving sideways across the runners, trying to fishtail, and Rohin leaned harder on the drag. The sledge steadied, and swung into the turn. As it swung, the sideboys let out their lines fractionally, easing the turn. Ixora gave the order to lift the left-hand brake, and the sledge surged forward unevenly. Rohin had waited a second too long to let up the drag, and the right-hand brakesman gave a derisive whistle. I thought Rohin shouted something, but his words were carried away by the wind.

  Then we were pounding back down the long track toward the camp. As we neared the end of the practice track, I leaned around the prow again, and saw a tiny figure growing rapidly larger in our lights. Then we were past it, and I caught a brief glimpse of a timer clutched in its gloved hand.

  "Down drag," Ixora shouted. "Quarter down left, half down right. Half in, the sides."

  There was a flurry of movement as her crew obeyed, and the sledge swung around to the right, throwing a shower of ice and snow, but slowing as it turned. Ixora waited a few seconds longer, then shouted, "Half down left. Down all, all in, the sides."

  Slowly, protesting and moaning, the hoobeys came to a stop, the sledge crew handling lines and brakes so neatly that there was never any danger of the sledge itself overrunning the animals. Handlers came running from the camp to secure the team, but Ixora kept her crew leaning on the brakes and lines until the second driver had tucked the rut-smeared rag into a plastic pouch and the handlers had slipped hobbles on the first two animals.

  "All set, Ixora," the chief handler called from his place at the lead hoobey's head, and I heard the second driver give a grunt of relief.

  "Thanks, Pate," Ixora shouted back, then slid down the inner edge of the prow, landing almost on top of the right-hand sideboy. I dodged back, though she hadn't really come anywhere near me, and could feel myself blushing beneath the thin face-mask. Fortunately for my ego, at least, Ixora turned toward the stern, hands on hips, glaring at Rohin. The Demi-heir rested both elbows on the edge of the brake turret and grinned down at her. Ixora's scowl deepened, and she turned her head to include the rest of her crew in her disapproval.

  "Sloppy," she said, "very sloppy, all of you. Rohin, you're not crew, I'll make allowances—but the rest of you. . . . When I want brake, I'll ask for it, but until that moment, nobody touches line or lever til I've given the word. Is that clear?"

  There was a rather sullen mutter of agreement, the sideboys and brakesmen untangling themselves from their equipment without meeting her eyes. Only Rohin seemed unaffected by her tirade, still leaning over the edge of the turret. Seeing my eyes on him, he slowly shook his head. Ixora glared at her team for a moment longer, then turned away to lean out over the left-hand brake.

  "Gisala! Time?"

  "Five and a half!"

  The brakesmen exchanged glances and thoughtful nods at that, and the nearer sideboy whispered a delighted curse. Ixora nodded slowly as she turned back to her crew. "Not bad," she said, grudgingly. "Not bad, considering we had an inexperienced dragsman, the heavy sledge, and no jill. But we'd've been a full second faster if you hadn't braked without my word." She smiled slowly, studying their faces as they pulled off the thin masks. "Trust me, people. I know what I'm doing."

  There were reluctant smiles at that, and Rohin chose that moment to drop out of the brake turret. "Cousin, you're a fine driver, but you're too hot-blooded. Get another dragsman, not me."

  I held my breath, waiting for Ixora to lash out at him for damaging her crew's faith in her, but the driver threw back her head and laughed. Her crew grinned with her, and even Rohin was smiling rather ruefully.

  "So, you don't think I need a purebred team any more?" Ixora jeered.

  "I think you need a psych-doc," Rohin retorted. "You're mad, cousin mine." He looked at me, smile fading a little. "Are you all right, Medium?"

  "The Medium's braver than you are," Ixora said.

  I said, before Rohin could continue the argument, "Fine, thanks. It was a very—exciting experience." I deliberately gave the words a twist, and was pleased when the sledge crew laughed. "Seriously, though—thank you, Ixora. I appreciate the chance to ride in one of these."

  Ixora gave a one-shouldered shrug, though the praise clearly pleased her. "You should come out in a racing rig some time, Medium. That's the real excitement. But I'm glad you enjoyed it."

  "Very much," I said again, and Rohin and I took our leave. The Demi-heir's smile faded as we got farther away from the sledge and the busy handlers, and when we stopped in the supply hut to put away the borrowed gear, I saw that his hands were shaking.

  "Are you all right?" I asked.

  "Ha!" Rohin pulled himself up short, put the folded face masks back into their box with exaggerated care. "Oh, I'm fine, or I will be. I'm just sorry you had to be along. I hope it wasn't too bad."

  It was beginning to be borne in on me that the sledge ride had been more dangerous than I had realized. I said, carefully, "I told you, I'm quite all right." I stopped there, not knowing what further questions to ask without admitting that I hadn't realized anything was wrong, but Rohin went on without prompting. He stuffed the last pair of felt overboots back into the storage chest, slamming the lid, and beckoned for me to follow him from the shed.

  "Ixora's
just crazy," he said. "I wasn't kidding when I said she ought to see the psych-docs. Nobody drives on the edge like that when they're not racing. 'Don't touch the brakes except on my order' —that's the way people get killed, for God's sake. And on a practice run, with the family medium aboard—she's crazy."

  A new voice said, "And you're jealous."

  Rohin swung around quickly, fists clenched. I turned more slowly, preserving a medium's dignity. The brakesman Tabat had come up behind us as we talked, and stood there grinning. He was tall even by Oresteian standards, and handsome in a dark, flashy-masculine way. Rohin's frown deepened.

  "Admit it," Tabat went on, still smiling. He was maybe two or three years older than Rohin, and not likely ever to forget that fact. "Rehur was a much better dragsman than you."

  "Maybe he was," Rohin answered, and managed not to sound too much like a hurt child. "But that doesn't change the fact that Ixora drives like a madman."

  "Rehur didn't have any trouble keeping up with her when he was alive," Tabat answered.

  "He was just as irresponsible—" Rohin broke off abruptly, his eyes fixing on something just visible over Tabat's shoulder. "Brandrs."

  I glanced around, and saw a party of brightly dressed men and women emerging from behind the nearest of the camp buildings. Most of them wore the blue-and-gold-striped scarves affected by supporters of the Brandr Family's racing team. Both the Halex stiffened, their private quarrel forgotten. Elaborately casual, Tabat glanced over his shoulder, then turned away with equally ostentatious unconcern. Rohin hastily smoothed his expression into one of intense interest, and Tabat leaned forward, saying a little too loudly, "Yes, the practice run went very well, I thought. Five and a quarter's not half bad."

  "I doubt anyone's bettered it," Rohin said, equally loudly.

  The knot of Brandr kinsmen slowed at that, and one of them detached himself from the group and walked toward us. He was an older man, perhaps ten years older than Rohin, and seeing that, I was glad I was with the Halex to lend them countenance. By Oresteian custom, the young are at an automatic disadvantage in dealing with their elders, and the thin-faced, sneering Branch looked like the sort to take full advantage of the custom.