by Laurence Yep
Ahead of them, on the right bank of the stream, was a large handcart with wheels of wooden planks hammered and then trimmed into two large circles. “Whom does this belong to?” Sulu asked.
The prince paused to pick up what looked like a large bowl of straw a meter wide at its mouth and nearly a third of a meter deep. “The monks. See. Here’s one of their hats.” He indicated the straps on the rim. “You saw some of the order this morning.”
Curious, Mr. Spock peered over one side of the handcart. “It would appear that someone was doing the laundry.” He touched a shallow basket filled with soap.
Sulu picked up another of the half dozen straw hats that littered the ground. By now the blood in the stream had been diluted to pink, but it was still noticeable. “They must’ve been frightened by the sound of fighting and run away. Or maybe they even saw the blood.” He tried one hat over his head and could barely see through the interstices of the tightly woven straw. “I guess they left these behind so they could see where they were running.”
[119] Sticking her dagger through the sash-end of her soropa, Urmi began to go through the robes. “It might be wise to wear these during our trip.”
The prince lowered the hat. “I suppose we ought to disguise ourselves from pursuers.”
“Rahu’s men won’t be the only threats we might meet.” Urmi’s voice sounded strained as she leaned her stomach against the side of the handcart. “Times have changed. And we have changed with them.”
Sulu placed his sword’s edge on the side of the handcart where Urmi made a point of ignoring it. “Before we let you lead us anywhere, I think you’d better tell us a little more about yourself, Urmi. How close was your uncle to the truth? Are you a spy?”
She paused, her hands tightening like claws around the robes.
“Are you?” the prince demanded.
She closed her eyes as if she had been pushed once too often. “Yes.” She started to shove robes around again at a furious rate; but she didn’t select any. “But not the kind you think. We don’t want to overthrow anyone. We just want to protect ourselves. We have that right.”
The prince frowned as she dragged a robe out and measured it against him. “Do not address me in the nobles’ tongue.”
“No, this hem is much too short.” She put the robe back into the cart insolently. Apparently, she had used the nobles’ tongue again because the prince went on frowning. “What’re you going to do if your face freezes like that? They’ll wind up using you at some temple to scare off demons.” It was almost as if she were trying to take out her frustrations on the prince.
[120] The prince’s lips wriggled themselves into a smile. “Well, you did fight by my side, so I suppose that does make you my equal in a way.”
Urmi seemed surprised at that admission—as if she had been expecting almost any other reaction but that. “Well, at least there’s one thing to be said about your stay among the offworlders. You really aren’t like the other nobles.”
“That’s about the kindest thing anyone’s said to me today.” He leaned against the cart. “But what did you mean about ‘protecting your rights’?”
Urmi held up another robe. “We had to band ourselves together against the bandits and the taxmen. Your father started to farm out taxes to collectors who bid for the right. And they don’t care how they collect their money, so they use bullies and thugs. Sometimes they even take more than they should. And if you complain to the officials—”
“The petitioner loses his or her head.” The prince took the robe from her. “Yes, I know my father’s attitude toward criticism.”
“And then there are a lot more bandits nowadays.” She turned back to the cart and selected a robe for Sulu. “We had to form a militia for self-defense even if it was illegal.”
Sulu held it up against himself with one hand. “That still doesn’t explain what you were doing in the palace.”
With a disapproving frown, she took it from him and gave him another to try. “Once the militia was formed, we began to contact other villages and the workers in the cities. Your father had the right idea about improving Angira, but was going about it in the wrong way.”
[121] “I’m sure my father would have been delighted by your help,” the prince said dryly. He began to wind the ribbons of his sword around the blade near the hilt so that the bells would not ring as much.
“And if the emperor didn’t go along with it?” Sulu asked.
“That remained to be seen,” was Urmi’s honest reply.
“Do we have any reason to trust you now?” Mr. Spock asked.
She glared at him. “I gave my word to my uncle.” She looked back at the prince. “You’re not the only one who will keep faith with him. I’ll help you reach Kotah. After that, my obligation is ended.”
“So I can feel safe enough to turn my back on you until then?” the prince asked wryly.
“If I have to kill you, it will be face-to-face,” Urmi promised solemnly.
“You were impudent, disrespectful, but, as your uncle said, you were not a liar. I believe you, Urmi.” With forced cheer, he scrutinized Mr. Spock. “Do you know, Mr. Spock, I detect a religious aura about you.”
Mr. Spock picked through the robes. “I am more interested in what people do not detect.”
“Yes, those dagger-shaped ears.” The prince presented the hat to Mr. Spock with an elaborate flourish. “This should do nicely.”
The robes hid everything, with a hem that trailed along the ground. For easier walking, they slung the hats on their backs by means of the straps, while the robes were bunched up around their waists. When the robes were allowed to hang down, they would hide their weapons; and the long, flowing sleeves would hide [122] the offworlders’ naked hands. For her part, Urmi had used strips torn from a robe to fashion wrist bands for her daggers.
When they were ready, she led them to the northern end of the valley where a narrow track zigzagged up the steep slope. Because their large hats and robes forced them to take short steps, the trip seemed to take forever.
Halfway up the trail, the prince stopped. “This is no good, Urmi. I don’t see any spies about, so I suggest we put our hats back and tuck up our robes.”
Urmi let her hat hang by its straps behind her back. “I guess it’s safe enough for a while.”
They found the going was easier when they had taken off their hats and rolled their robes up around their waists.
At the top of the path, they paused, as much to catch their breath as to take in the view. Filling the plain below them were the red tops of tall mesas. Squat, blocklike shapes—some as high as fifteen stories—thrust up from the orange soil. Bands of yellow and orange and pink decorated the sides, but red seemed to predominate, streaking everything. And the mesas seemed to stretch on to the horizon.
“The view is as enchanting as ever,” the prince murmured.
Sulu shaded his eyes and stared at the flat-sided mesas that rose from the plain like high-rises, and the broad spaces between them like avenues. “It looks like an abandoned city.”
The prince pointed to the tops, which seemed to end in crenellations or even conical spires. “But at least this is a city where everyone lived in a castle.”
[123] “An abandoned fairy tale then.” Sulu grinned back.
The prince gave a sad, knowing little laugh as he gazed at the crumbling tower shining in the sun. “As the poet says, ‘All grandeur decays and all magic passes away.’ ” He paused and then added, “And so have all the kings and queens who lived here.” He could not resist turning to Urmi. “Is there a lesson here for me?”
“Of a sort.” Urmi raised her left leg to scratch it. “But it’s more likely the story of some fool of an emperor who had such grandiose schemes that his own people turned against him.”
The prince kicked a pebble over the edge. They heard it clack as it fell. “Then the moral is to leave this world to you and Rahu so you can work out your own destinies.”
Mr. Spock st
epped brusquely to the edge of the path. “And how far do we travel?” He was careful to accent the last word as if they had all forgotten.
There was silence for a moment, as if the others still wanted to enjoy the scenery. But when Mr. Spock turned around expectantly, Urmi sighed. “It’s fifty kilometers. Then the path climbs up another ridge.”
“Then may I suggest we move as far as we can while there is still daylight?” Mr. Spock said. “Since Angira has no moon, Mr. Sulu and I will have trouble walking just by starlight.”
“Do you always have to be so pragmatic, Mr. Spock?” the prince asked. “I fear the charms of landscapes and moons are wasted on you.”
“I won’t squander precious time sentimentalizing physical phenomena, if that’s what you mean.” Mr. Spock started down the path at a brisk pace.
The path wound through slender pillars of sandstone [124] that stood like trees from which the branches as well as the leaves had been blasted. Bars of light alternated with bars of shadow so that it seemed sometimes as if they were walking along a meandering series of piano keys.
On the floor of the plain, the path widened into a broad, rocky avenue between two huge mesas. As they entered the first canyon, Urmi looked at them defensively. “Would you mind telling an ignorant peasant why you might want to take over my world?”
“I hate to tell you this, Urmi,” the prince said pleasantly—as if he really didn’t mind at all, “but there are far nicer worlds for them to conquer than Angira.”
“Then why don’t the offworlders just leave us alone?” Urmi asked as she skipped over a rock.
Mr. Spock looked at her as calmly as if they were merely strolling through a park after dinner instead of escaping from Rahu. “In the long run, it is far better to add new and healthy partners. That is one of the chief principles upon which the Federation is based.”
“Tell me another story.” Urmi arched a skeptical eyebrow.
Mr. Spock spent the better part of an hour trying to explain the Federation to Urmi. Suspicious and stubborn, Urmi tried her best to establish that its principles were simply propaganda. And her sharp questions had backed Mr. Spock through space and time until he was now trying to explain the Meditations of Surak and the Works of Mencius.
The prince and Sulu, on the other hand, walked on ahead, watching the alterations that the late afternoon sun created in the canyons. The shadows seemed to rise up the sides and the colors at the very top seemed to [125] change. The reds seemed to deepen to almost a vermilion while the lighter hues seemed to fuse into a somber orange. And the topmost peaks and spires seemed to glow like frozen tongues of flame.
As twilight filled the canyons, it seemed to Sulu as if the maze of canyons would stretch on forever; and the mesas themselves took on a timeless quality, as if they had been created in this eroded state and would always stay this way. If Sulu took a breath here, he could hold it forever until he himself turned into stone.
“Well,” the prince sighed, “at least some of the magic still lingers in the fairy tale.” He halted and looked behind him.
“And so,” Mr. Spock was saying in his earnest way, “the alternative to growth is stagnation and decay. And it is equally true of a collection of worlds or just one.”
The prince beckoned to the two stragglers. “You might as well take a rest, Urmi. Your ears will wear out long before Mr. Spock’s tongue. Why don’t you enjoy the view instead?”
“I suppose so.” She scratched her forehead self-consciously. “But I still find it hard to believe that they can help themselves by helping us.”
The prince shrugged. “Even if Angirans have not learned to conquer their selfishness, other people have.”
“Then I must be too stupid to understand.” Urmi laughed a little too loudly. “But I can see how you could’ve fooled someone as gullible as the prince.”
Her tone was joking, but Sulu guessed that she was still smarting from her debate with the prince and Mr. Spock. At an early age, Sulu had learned to recognize the resentment and even the hostility that lay [126] underneath such a tone. He had met with it in a variety of forms from colonists during his family’s travels. His father had told him the hostility had come from the colonists’ own insecurities rather than anything Sulu had done. And long ago, Sulu had learned to counter it with a determined, even aggressive cheerfulness.
“What do we have to do to convince you that we don’t want your world?” Sulu tried to laugh.
She made a soft hissing noise as if in mock exasperation. “You could go home and never come back.”
The prince turned around and backed along the stony ground so he could face Urmi while he spoke. “People like Sulu and Mr. Spock don’t have one measly little planet that they call home. They have the whole galaxy.”
“Everybody has a home.” Urmi flapped an exasperated hand at the sky.
“Not space travelers. We have points of origin rather than homes.” Sulu stopped the prince before he fell into a water-worn ditch.
“You were born on a spaceship?” Urmi asked with sudden interest.
It was an easy thing for the prince, with his long legs, to simply step over the ditch, but Sulu had to jump. “No,” he said from the other side, “but I might just as well have been, My mother was a scientist who studied crop production so we were always moving from one world to another.”
“Where were you born then?” Urmi sounded more curious than anything else now.
“Earth,” Sulu said, “but I didn’t really know about it except through books—and my imagination.” Sulu chuckled at the memory. “When I was a kid, I built it [127] up as really something. Instead of wilderness and struggling farms, there would be green hills and mansions and castles. And instead of dirt farmers, there would be gentlemen and ladies and everything would be perfect. So I kept after my parents until they decided to take me back to the ancestral homelands. That was a mistake.” Sulu paused as he remembered that trip.
“What happened?” Urmi asked as she easily strode over the ditch.
Sulu waited until Mr. Spock had joined him on the other side of the ditch before he went on. “You have to understand how idealistic my dad could be sometimes. He insisted I do without a universal translator. He said the only real way to think in Japanese was to speak it. So I tried to get by on my English and bad Japanese.”
“But you told me you were named after a character in a classical Japanese novel.” The prince straddled a flat rock.
“That doesn’t mean I read it in Japanese.” Sulu climbed up beside him. “We used it a little bit at home for ordinary, everyday things and I thought it was enough.” Sulu added, “But sometimes it wasn’t. Taxi drivers would take me out of my way to pad the fare. Clerks would wait on everyone else before they’d wait on me. And I can’t tell you how many times the old people would scold me like I was dirt beneath their feet.”
“I don’t understand that, though.” The prince leapt from the rock. “When I was there, I never had any trouble. In fact, they made me feel very welcome.”
“There’s a double standard—at least in Asia.” Sulu picked his way, using smaller stones as steps. “A stranger doesn’t have any face to begin with—so it [128] doesn’t matter. Mistreating you would have been just as bad as mistreating some idiot child. But I and my family were supposed to fit in and speak the language like ‘real people.’ ”
“Instead of grunting like an animal?” the prince suggested. “At least that’s what Bibil called it. He was always after me to hold our conversations in Angiran so our tongues wouldn’t get rusty.”
“So you have no ... roots?” Urmi sounded stunned. The pause before the last word had not been hers but the universal translator’s. She had probably used the term panku, with all of its meanings, and the translator had to take a fraction of a second to find a word suitable for the context.
But Sulu had remembered the almost mystical connotations the prince had described—a stump that bears new shoots, a source and so on. “No,” Sulu
said quietly, “I have no panku.”
“But that’s like ...”—this time Urmi struggled for words sufficient to express her horror—“like a world without a sky.”
“So ‘home’ is as much a foreign concept to me as a ‘moon’ would be to you,” he explained good-naturedly.
“ ‘Moon?’ ” Urmi looked to the prince for interpretation.
The prince held a fist up in the air and moved it in a slow circle. “It’s a smaller version of a planet that reflects the light of the sun even at night.”
Urmi wrinkled her forehead as if she suspected it was another offworlders’ hoax. “That sounds impossible.”
“Not at all.” And Mr. Spock looked quite prepared to provide an explanation, but Urmi waved her hand hastily at Mr. Spock.
[129] “Never mind. A moon isn’t as hard to understand as the situation you’re describing.” She stared at them quizzically. “It sounds terrible to be an outsider like that.”
“I’m afraid it’s the price one must pay to learn about things such as moons and planetary rings.” The prince’s sandals slapped against the hot, gritty rocks.
“The cost is still a relatively small one,” Mr. Spock said to Urmi as he followed her down the rocks.
The prince cocked his head to the side curiously. “Perhaps I lack your philosophical detachment about such isolation, Mr. Spock. I find it rather like being in a glass cage: You can see and hear everything—but never touch or be touched.”
Urmi’s voice was softer. “You mean here, on Angira?”
“Or in the Federation.” Straightening his head, the prince resumed walking.
Urmi gave a shiver. “I’d rather live in the dungeons with the kik-kiks than live in an exile like that.”
The prince fussed with the robe that lay wadded up around his waist like an inner tube. “I want some semblance of a normal, carefree life. I want to live on a safe, sane world where everyone isn’t bent on trying to stab everyone else in the back.”
As if she were determined to defend the honor of her world, Urmi caught up with him in three quick strides. “You make Angira sound like a pit of flame vipers. But we fight for what we believe is right.”