Yet was, for all around me crowded my sense of the Clan, my people, each dealing with the strangeness in their own way.
There! Morgan, for his part filled with curiosity and delight, as if being flung through space in a bubble was the height of normalcy and he couldn’t wait to see what happened next.
Even as I tried to find my own anticipation, I reeled, hit by a flare of loss.
No! I refused. We were so close. No more. No more—
<
—wrong, that voice. Hollow. Reaching into my consciousness like burning fingers, leaving ash behind and grief.
I pushed it away with all my will even as loss after loss struck me, those torn from their understanding of the possible escaping the only way they could.
<
—I wouldn’t listen, terrified those slipping away were hearing voices of their own.
Watchers began howling names—too many, so many. I despaired. No! I shouted in answer, in anger. Stay! I urged those left. Trust me! Don’t LISTEN!
I felt others pick up my plea and send it forth.
Felt it hold us together.
Then everything . . .
Stopped.
Interlude
CESSATION OF—he wouldn’t, Morgan thought grimly, have called that movement. More being shaken like the yolk in an egg.
Little wonder he’d felt stabs of panic through his link to Sira. They hadn’t all arrived, of that he was certain. Nothing to be done about it, but care for those here.
The pod cracked like a shell, letting in—he took a deep daring breath—air.
Cool. Not so much fragrant as sharp. Fresh.
Moist.
Rain! The Human worked himself to his feet, shoving aside pieces of the now-brittle pod. Using a hand to shelter his eyes, he took an eager look around.
Daylight, luck or intention. Gloom rather than bright, but the rain was falling from scudding gray clouds. Darker and massed to his left; pale and broken, tinged with rose to the right.
If dawn? East. West.
Flat here, where they’d come down; again, luck or intention. A featureless plain as far as he could see, which would be farther once the sun—for now he assumed only one—broke the cloud layer. And they’d come down—or arrived—together. More than together. The pods formed a tight spiral, with his midway down the left arm.
Lowering his hand, Morgan tilted his face to the rain.
Going to turn purple and die? Sira’s mindvoice was light, his sense of her muted but calm. She’d bury her grief as all the times before. Draw strength from it. Move forward.
Gods, he loved her.
“One way to find out, chit.” He stuck out his tongue to collect drops and brought them back into his mouth. Cool, fleeting, tasteless. Sensual stuff, rain. Born of an open sky. A spacer thought, most likely. So far, so good.
The Human eased from what was left of his pod, wary of sharp points. Contact had shattered the pieces along regular planes; curious, he stepped on one.
Snap. Blue flickered along the newly made edges, like a tiny flame quickly burning itself out. If not for the gloom, he’d have missed it. Morgan put his boot to another shard, releasing more blue light.
A spark leaped to the ground. The ground, almost too quickly to see, flared blue in answer.
Sira, are you seeing this?
Now that he knew what to look for, the subtle discharge was taking place everywhere as people struggled free of their pods, cracking the material. The ground’s fleeting response didn’t echo the spiral; tempting, to discern a meaningful pattern in what could be random.
And was gone, most likely before anyone else noticed. Freed, the Clan were immediately preoccupied, standing without motion or sound, busy communing with those closest to their hearts. All but one. Morgan grinned, spotting that slender arm waving vigorously.
He waved back and headed toward Sira, then stopped, staring at a brightening horizon no longer flat, but rippling with movement.
Movement coming this way. He changed course, walking forward to intercept whatever it was. One pocket disgorged a distance lens he quickly pressed to his left eye. The lens had a targeting function as well, though the blaster now filling his right hand wasn’t precise.
It could, however, make an impression.
Chapter 15
RAIN. A gray, drizzling what I hoped was dawn across a plain empty of form or shape save for us: a tidy spiral of people standing amid eggshells, belongings in their hands. Nothing I’d imagined incorporated those elements. Nothing.
Fair enough. I shrugged inwardly. The Fox had landed on less prepossessing planets; if I’d learned anything with Morgan, it was not to judge a world by its shipcity. Or lack of.
Home, I sent, before those who’d survived—most, I assured myself—could begin to doubt, making sure the words went to all of them. Safe. I’d no ship to project my voice and I wasn’t about to shout.
Not until we knew what else might hear. Not until—but there was no certainty, not here, most of all, not in the M’hir.
What had I heard?
Or was the real question, who?
We were on solid ground. The air was breathable. Progress, I reminded myself. Hair shivering itself free of moisture, I grappled with Morgan’s bulky pack and looked around for its owner, finding him near the end of an arm of the pattern we’d created. Even from here, I could tell he was already engaged in exploring this new world.
Lifting my face, I dared taste raindrops, too.
Sira, are you seeing this? An image.
I checked. Yes. Closer to the spiral’s center, I found myself surrounded by ephemeral sparks of blue and stepped awkwardly free of the remains of my conveyance to see more, so distracted by the sight I forgot to notice my first step on this world.
A world, I saw as I crouched, pack balanced on my knees, busy absorbing the flickers of glowing blue we’d brought with us. Harmlessly, I hoped. Poisoning the landscape wasn’t the best first impression.
Reassured, my people stilled, numb at a guess. Putting down the pack, I waved at Morgan then sent my own message. Aryl? How are you?
Not seeing this, my great-grandmother informed me with a hint of impatience.
My apologies. I gave Aryl access to whatever I could see and turned slowly, scanning our surroundings. The clouds had lifted along the horizon, letting through beams of sunlight that stroked pale pink along their gray undersides and sparkled the last of the raindrops. Our new home, I sent with growing satisfaction. What do you think?
It looks like Oud territory, grimly.
Not everything flat—I stopped, frowning as Morgan spun around, walking away from us with distance-eating strides. Where was he going?
More importantly, why had he pulled a weapon?
Sira! There!
I squinted at the horizon beyond my Human’s silhouette, at first confused how the line between sky and land appeared to rise and fall, then afraid.
It wasn’t land at all, but a mass of shadowy indistinct forms. Forms moving this way! Jason, what are they?
Checking on that. Calm. Absentminded, which only meant his focus was elsewhere. Keep the others together.
Come back.
Thought I was to go first, Witchling. He let me feel his smile.
Not like this. I’d envisioned him walking out of Sona to a civilized meeting with whomever greeted us, not this solitary march toward the unknown. Morgan—
He walled me out, sensibly reserving his full attention for whatever he faced.
Cursing under my breath at Humans, planets, and life in general, I wrestled his pack over my shoulders, leaving the blanket roll on the ground. If things went well, I’d be back for it. This way! I sent urgently, pointing away from Morgan. What use the scattering of shards and belongings might be as a barrier I’d n
o idea, but it put something between us.
The Om’ray moved, herding the M’hiray ahead. Children held tight to their mothers; Barac and Destin, along with the Sona Clan scouts, came last, their attention divided between their charges and the distant horizon. Pod bits cracked and snapped underfoot, there were voices, but another sound grew louder.
The heavy, low drumming was like rain on a roof, not that we’d roof or rain, patches of purpled sky breaking through overhead. I waited for the others, my eyes and inner sense locked on the receding form of my Chosen, ready to ’port him back.
The rest of the Clan settled around me like a shroud. We’d no option but to stand here and wait. The gradual increase in light revealed nothing but ourselves, some far-off hills backed by still-dark cloud, and the approaching line.
Before long, the drumming could be felt through our feet, silencing even the M’hir.
Barac came to stand beside me, tension rolling from him like smoke. “It’s not right. He shouldn’t be alone out there.”
“He’s not,” I reminded him, much as I agreed.
Low and angry. “You know what I mean.”
I shook my head. “If Morgan wants company, he’ll ask for it.” Poor choice of words. My Human was about to have an abundance of company. What at first had appeared a line was now clearly lumps, large ones; a daunting number of large, moving lumps.
“What are they?”
Gricel, Yanti snugged in a wrap across her breasts, overheard. “Oud,” the former Amna said quietly. “I’ve never seen so many above ground.”
The neighbors.
I supposed it was too much to ask for new ones.
Interlude
OUD. A wave of them coming this way, above ground. Through the lens, none were the varieties he’d met on Cersi. Oh, they’d the sluglike shape of worker Oud, but instead of pale flaccid skin, these had brown hides that flexed to allow them to hump forward.
Not to mention, by the lens’ scale, these were easily three times the size.
Morgan chose an arbitrary tuft of sun-touched grass and stopped, tucking away lens and blaster. The blastglobes in his lower pockets were worse than useless. He’d barely escaped a Brexx stampede on Ret 7. Having seen a normal-sized Oud move with speed, he’d rather not see what the bigger version would do if panicked.
Barac’s fussing.
Words to warm the heart. Tell him he’s better off where he is. They stink. It was true; the freshening wind, still humid from the rain, brought the fetid aroma of Oud with it. The fastidious Clansman would be gagging.
The wind took his scent away. How well did Oud see? No point shouting—the pound of those heavy bodies as fronts thrust forward to drop to the ground, rears heaving up to thump in turn, would drown out his voice. Firing his blaster remained an option, but if they didn’t stop before trampling him—
—they’d trample the helpless families behind him. That, the Human vowed, wasn’t happening. Oud could talk.
Some, anyway. The intelligent ones. Minded. Makers. He pulled out his com, affixing it to his collar. One such Oud had rebuilt the device, complete with Cersi’s common language in a form the sleepteach function had accepted. For all he knew, there was more in it, perhaps something to help him now. Worth a try.
Although, come to think of it, a Tikitik Thought Traveler had killed that particular Oud, it having tried to kill Sira, along with all remaining Clan.
New world, new problems. Morgan balanced on his toes, keeping his breathing steady. The pace of the Oud was deceptive; each thrust forward covered more than a body length. Just another negotiation, chit, he sent. You know the drill.
Understood. Then, almost lightly. Make this work. I’d prefer not to drop them into the M’hir. A chilling reminder those behind him weren’t helpless at all.
Five Oud-lengths from his toes and fate, the herd dropped to its hundreds of feet and began to prance—he’d no other word for it—in place.
Morgan surveyed the towering wall of brown featureless lumps, feeling slightly ridiculous. None had heads; Oud were particularly inconvenient in that regard, the end moving forward being the head of the moment as far as he’d noticed, though the Maker Oud had shown a preference. Still, they’d stopped short of running him down. A promising start.
To speak first or—
The centermost pair of Oud began to fidget, bumping at their neighbors who bumped sideways and violently against theirs. Bumping became climbing, as those in the middle heaved themselves on those to either side, and those did the same—
Creating an opening, no, a corridor walled in struggling flesh that extended back through the herd. Down that corridor, toward Morgan, came a single Oud.
With a rider, a Tikitik, sitting astride.
Like recently old times, the Human decided. He’d have been more surprised not to find Tikitik here, if the Oud were.
Such cooperation, however, was new.
As the being’s ungainly mount tiptoed closer, the four eyes set in the Tikitik’s triangular head locked on him. Familiar yes, but like these Oud, different, too. The paired eyes—two large, two small—were borne on flexible cones, but the head was larger and carried on a down-curved neck half the length of Cersi’s Tikitik, so it was held just below the being’s shoulders rather than the midpoint of its concave chest. The tendrils that were lips and tongue were longer, white, and delicate, in this individual folded up to the sides like a mustache.
The Tikitik of Cersi wore, at most, a woven band from shoulder to hip. This one had a body-hugging jerkin of gray, accompanied by a black striped cloak over its shoulders and back. Its thin arms and legs were bare, with white, nasty-looking barbs lining their outer surface. The knobby skin matched the color of the Oud beneath it. No guarantee that was its true color, camouflage being a Tikitik trait.
Morgan kept still. The Oud rattled to a stop within reach, had he wanted to touch it, giving him a good look at its hide. Rather than part of the creature, it was a hood of tough supple fabric stapled to the lowest portion of each segment.
Had the Oud wanted to talk, it would have reared up to expose the cluster of appendages they used to create sound. Instead, it crouched, allowing its rider to dismount, then rose and moved sideways with a rapid flutter of feet to crouch again.
The Tikitik stepped forward without the grace Morgan remembered. Stiff from riding was a possibility. Nursing an injury or an older individual, just as likely. It waved a long-fingered hand as if to sweep the Human aside. “We have work to complete. This area is sessened to nirsei-taden. You must leave.”
A small sample of the language, granted, but to his relief he understood most. “Hello,” Morgan said, giving a short bow, his hands out and open. “My name is Jason Morgan.”
The creature leaned forward, tendrils writhing. “What thing are you?”
Morgan bowed again. “New arrivals. We could use some help.”
“‘We.’” The head rose at a painful angle, the lesser eyes swiveling to aim past him. “More of you?”
He resisted the urge to let Sira know what was happening.
“One of me.” Honesty, this early on, was safer. “The rest are Hoveny.” A less safe choice, that word, but until they understood what “Om’ray” meant here, he wouldn’t risk it or “Clan.” Besides, they either were, or weren’t.
“You must leave. Where are your machines?”
Bait, that question. It could see for itself they’d none. “We meant no trespass. We were left here,” he told it. “Where is this?”
“Where we are to work.” The head lowered slightly. This close, he could hear the meaty sound the cones made as they rotated to stare at him. “Jason Morgan.” As if tasting the name. “What thing are you?”
“Human.” The word wanted to stick in his throat. Why? He’d been alone most of his adult life—been the only one of his kind on a world more than once
.
Just not the last.
A thought to ponder, ideally over an intoxicant, another time than now. “We need assistance. Shelter and supplies. Can you help us?”
An eye rolled back to consider the sullen line of Oud. “We must work.” The eye came back to Morgan. “You and your Hoveny must leave.”
Making this a chance to trade. “We will leave,” Morgan offered, “if you help us.”
Tendrils writhed as if tasting the options. Then, “I can take you to those in authority.” Its barking laugh was all too familiar. “The Hoveny will not enjoy the journey.”
Guessing the means, the Human had to agree. “Take us,” he said before the creature could change its mind.
Sira, he sent. I’ve found us a ride.
“So how do I get on?”
Chapter 16
“RIDE THOSE THINGS? He can’t be serious.”
“I’d say he is,” I replied, though I shared my cousin’s incredulity. Seeing the line of giant Oud come to a peaceful halt had been a relief, however anxious the moments as Morgan negotiated with, yes, a Tikitik.
Who’d arrived on one of “those things,” so it could be done. Barac’s not happy.
Amusement. He won’t be alone. Keep everyone calm, Witchling. We don’t want them spooking the Oud.
As assignments went, I thought darkly, he’d taken the easier one. Calm? I’d do well if most of the silent crowd behind me didn’t start screaming. I’ll do my best.
Resolutely, I put my back to Morgan and what he was about to do. These are not the Oud who harmed you, I sent to them all. These are—monsters? Not reassuring—of this world and have offered us their help.
Those who could tear their eyes from what was happening, at a distance that no longer seemed far enough, stared at me in disbelief.
I kept going, shamelessly underscoring each word with a cheerful optimism I was far from feeling, reinforcing my sending with Power to drown out any other. Our new allies will take us to the local authorities. This world is our beginning. Let us make this first encounter a brave and mannerly one. Do not frighten them. Last, but not least, the truth. We’ve no choice and everything to gain. My Chosen will go first, to prove we’ll be safe.
The Gate to Futures Past Page 20