by Jo Clayton
"Right. Give one six hours, you can manage that. This is good work, Piskwakan Sa-Ke. One owes you and one won't forget. Oppla's Boon, friend." Makwahkik clicked off the corn, went back to drumming on the desk. After a few minutes of this, he toggled the speaker.
"Nahwac, arrange highsecurity quarters for three; there'll be a flit arriving in the next ten minutes, have it put down in the Whisper Court, clear out that part of the Kasta, I want no one looking out those windows. Have them brought to me as soon as they're in. I'll be here if you need me before then."
Ajeri Kilavaz swore. She listened a moment longer, then called out: "Ginny, get over here. The shit is hitting the fan, and we could end up covered in it." Ginbiryol Seyirshi frowned at her but said nothing. He crossed the Bridge and stood beside her, watching the screen. "What is he talking about.. Then I was right. It was not as simple as it seemed it would be. Does Puk know?" Ajeri Kilavez shook her head. "He won't answer COM. I expect he will follow the smuggler all the way to Teegah's Limit, keep trying for him. You know Puk, how stubborn he can get."
"Yes."
"How did they manage it, Ginny? That flit had the defenses of a newhatched gnat, there's no way it could shrug off a seekershrike."
"It is my feeling that Puk was shooting at ghosts; if he hit the flit at all, it was empty by then with the escape capsules registering as fish if they registered at all. Remember the swamp, Ajeri tiszt. That lizardman has some dangerous Talents. The assessment?"
"Ready. There's a Rift in the ocean floor about a thousand kilometers off the East Coast, same latitude as Aina'iril. The mantle is thinnest there, drop the Banger in that and good-bye Kiskai. You want me to lay the egg, Ginny?"
"No. I do not want to take chances with it, there are too many Luck strands weaving down there. We will prime and lay it just before we leave. I would like to have a record of the event, but I think better not."
"You got it, sir. Anything else?"
"Not at the moment, Jeri. We will watch and wait"
Chapter 17. Aina'iril at last
It was a big room, filled with light, light from the ceiling strips, light pouring through the ceiling-to-floor windows at one end; it was meant to express the power and importance of the man behind the broad table-the Nish'mokkipsao Makwahkik, head of the Secret Police-and it did. The side opposite the windows broke open into a smallish alcove where the shadows not permitted in the main room almost but not quite obscured the art deco bulk of a skipcom. Shadith saw it seconds after she stepped through the door, touched Rohant's arm. He saw it, met her eyes, one brow raised.
"Why not," she murmured. "Room's mine, that's yours."
"When?"
They were being hustled closer to the table, Kikun quiet behind them, the cats left in the anteroom with Sassa. The Pihtatipli kept trying to push past them to get to the Nish'mok, but the quiet Aide kept a firm grip on his arm and held him in place by the door. The squad of guards spread into twin horns on either side; they looked alert enough, they had to, the Nish'mok was their ultimate boss, but they weren't really expecting the Three to act up or cause problems for them; Kikun, Rohant, and Shadith had carefully cultivated a mild bewilderment that engendered a cozy degree of carelessness in their escort.
"On three," she said. "One." She moved away from him, drawing a pace ahead of the guards, looking around, playing the child again with a childish eagerness that disarmed those guards and even the Nish'mok. Her smile widened into a grin as she saw that. "Two." She moved faster, reached the table several paces ahead of the rest. "Three." She sprang at the table, slapped her hands down, wheeled over it, landing a solid kick on the chest of the Nish'mok, knocking him back before he could reach the alarm sensors of any weapons if he had them there. She hit the carpet and came onto her feet with the darter in her hand, took out the one guard who reacted quickly enough to get his gun up, pressed the business end of the darter into the Nish'mok's nape as the swivel chair rebounded from the wall and he caught at the table to stop its gyrations. "Don't! move a hair or you're dead! Look at the guard and you'll see what I mean."
On the count of three, Rohant charged for the alcove, scattering guards like gamepins. By the time Shadith was making her speech, he was at the console, bringing the skipcom online.
When Shadith vaulted across the table, Kikun slipped to the door and had it open before anyone noticed him. He whistled softly; the cats came bounding in and trotted over to Rohant; they settled by the arch like totem beast-wards, huge and beautiful and deadly, speaking beyond the physical to ancient archetypes in the Kiskaid psyche, pulling the guard's eyes irresistibly to them, commanding the Pihtatipli's attention. Even the Aide lost his calm and stared. Still mostly unnoticed, Kikun relieved a guard of his sidearm and stationed himself at the door.
The action had taken less than a minute, going as smoothly as if they'd spent hours rehearsing it.
The Nish'mok sat quite still; he was more angry than afraid, but above all else, he was controlled. Shadith could feel him plotting; she didn't mind that, it would most likely keep him occupied long enough for the Ciocan to get the message out.
Rohant stepped to the arch. "Shadow, the corn's blocked, I think I can get through, but it'd be quicker if I had the access codes." He folded his arms, stood with his eyes fixed on the Nish'mok. "Want me to do some arm twisting?"
Shadith tapped the nose of the darter against the back of the Nish'mok's neck. "Tell the man, oinkoid. Won't mess up your arrangements, it's private business we're into."
He stared at the door, muscles knotting along his jaw. When he spoke, his voice was harsh, flat. "One of my kanaweh is dead."
"Too bad. He would've killed me if I let him. Look, let's get this over with. You think I don't know what you're doing? Keep your hands on the table, buuk. Longer you hold us here, the bigger the chance we trip over our own feet. Right? Never mind, I don't need an answer to that. And my leonine friend over there, be doesn't NEED the password, he can get round your blocks sooner'n you think. They won't be complicated, will they. Just something to keep the unauthorized offline. And not many of those reach this far, right? Ro, better get at it, you might even break through before I have to shoot someone. Uh-huh. You heard me, Primo Pig. Pig? Oh, merely something I picked up in my researches, ancient epithet. You get the gist, I'm sure. Another item for your consideration, the darts in this weapon don't have to hit anyplace special; they explode, but it's the poison that kills.
You saw how fast your kana died. It's painless, almost merciful you might say, certainly compared to your methods, what I've heard of them. Tell you what, I'll let you pick my next target. I'm going to shoot one after another until you give Ro the word. Which one's it going to be?"
The man sat rigidly silent. Abruptly, she saw it wasn't going to work. To answer her would be to diminish himself in front of witnesses and he wouldn't do it for a threat, she was going to have to dart someone… No, Shadow, be honest, KILL someone. Damn. There's no way I can justify… Stupid, stupid, stupid, painting myself into a corner like this. Well, keep on keeping on. If I have to back down, I back down. No point in anticipating the debacle, though. We'll see what we see. Maybe the bastard'll buy it.
"No preference? Well, looks like eeny. meeny miney mo and phut to you." She stepped back from the Nish'mok, keeping the darter steady on him while she let her gaze drift around the room, lingering briefly on one then another of the locals, her eyes as shallow and emotionless as those of the cats, pretending to herself as well as to the locals that she actually would shoot one of them if she had to.
Magimeez yawned, stretched out, over three meters of live black power; she left the arch and strolled among the guards, nosing at them, pawing at them claws out, growling deep in her throat; as she circled the room, the tension in the air thickened until it was almost unbearable.
There was a stir at the back, close to Kikun. The Aide came smoothly through the arc of guards, hands out and empty; he stopped a few paces from the table. "There's no point in this," he sa
id. "Hunter."
"Nahwac." Ignoring or forgetting Shadith, the Nish'mok leaned tensely forward, his hands flattened on the table top. "No."
"Yes, Nish'mok. I repeat, there is no point in putting more lives at risk for so little. Hunter."
Rohant stepped into the arch. "What is it?"
Nahwac glanced nervously at Makwahkik, straightened his shoulders, his mind made up. "Silitipisim. That will open channels out."
"Thanks." He ducked back, got busy with the sensorpad.
The Aide looked past the Nish'mok. "Singer, you have • what you want, put the weapon away."
"When the Ciocan is finished, then, well, we'll talk about it."
In the alcove, Rohant had switched to Dyslaer and was talking rapidly to someone, apparently one of his family, Shadith could hear the satisfaction in his voice though she couldn't understand the words.
The Aide listened, frowning, confused, his calm eroding with every minute that ticked past. He'd tried to take on himself an action that the Nish'mok would not, could not entertain; it was his duty and his pleasure to facilitate for Mikwahkik, he'd done it so often and so well that his move was as close to automatic as a reasoned act could be, but now he was beginning to think he'd misread the situation. For all he knew, Rohant might be calling death onto Kiskai, or if not on Kiskai, on them-revenge for his kidnapping, his capture, or their previous attempts to kill him. Shadith didn't need her Talent to read his uneasiness, she could see it in the shift of his eyes, their flick flick flick from the arch to the Nish'mok and back as the incomprehensible conversation in the alcove continued.
The spitting growl of the Dyslaer stopped abruptly and the whine of the skipcom cut off. Rohant came to the arch. "That's…"
There was a crashing noise, a stink-an agony in her shoulder. Then nothing.
WATCHER 8
CELL 1
Irritated, Ginbiryol Seyirshi frowned at the blank prime cell, then shifted to 4 as the girl sprang across the table. He sucked at his teeth and cuddled the Pet as he watched her take command of the room, watched Rohant race for the alcove and the skipcom. I knew better, he thought, I knew it was fatal to break the schema, but I panicked, yes, that is the truth naked. And there they are, carried will-they nill-they directly to that corn.
Luck was taking his hide off inch by inch and he was not enjoying the process; when Puk got back he would have to stop putting off the Praisesong. Too involved, he thought. I am neglecting the Lady. She punishes neglect, oh yes. A quick sidelook at the Pilot. Yes.,Soon. For more than one reason. "Ajeri tiszteh, you had best find another three EYEs and sensitize them to our Avatars. It looks like they will be with us for a while."
"All the EYEs are deployed, Ginny. I don't have to tell you, a world's a big place, even a world like this with just one major landmass. You got any preference where I lift them?"
Stroking the head of the simi, he considered the question. "Take three from Iril's streetscene Bank, use those. Replace them as soon as you can by shifting EYEs off the Pilgrim Road. It has settled to a rather placid mass; there is little useful in that march and a lot that is tedious. Start with the westernmost EYEs, shift them east, thin out the ones on the Road, move them closer, cluster them in Wapaskwen. You need not rush unduly, Ajeri tiszteh, we should have another two months before the Culmination." He stopped talking, stared at Cell 4 as chaos broke out in Makwahkik's office.
CELL 4
Rohant shut down the sldpcom and came tbthe arch. "That's…"
The crack of a pellet gun-Shadith blown back against the wall, failing in a sprawl behind the table.
Rohant roared and charged at the muzzle flash and the Pihtatipli who was yelling and laughing and waving the antique he wore at his belt (a large bore muzzle-loader considerably older than he was), full of himself for doing what the Nish'mok and his array of, guards couldn't manage to accomplish.
There was a shriek from Kikun that soared into the supersonic, then the lacertine blew the top off the Pihtatipli's skull with the pistol he'd taken from the kana guard.
Rohant roared again, satisfaction and commendation saturating the sound. He swung round, heading for Shadith, but pulled up at a bellowed command from the Nish'mok. The Kiskaid had scooped up the darter when Shadith dropped it and now was swinging it between him and the cats.
"Stand back and call off your beasts, or one will kill them, then you."
Rohant whistled Magimeez and Nagafog to him and stood with a hand on each head. "Let me look at her. Is she dead?"
Makwahkik ignored him. "Nahwac, take the gun from the Dancer. The rest of you get out of here and keep your mouths shut or one will have you playing heretic for trainee Na-priests. Back off, Hunter, I mean it. You come a step closer and you're dead as that fool."
Far more aware than anyone else in the room, even his Aide, how much the death of that idiot Plicik was going to complicate all their lives, he watched the kanaweh file out; he didn't expect his reputation or his threats to keep them silent long, they had to disappear. One more count to set against those interfering offworiders.
He scowled the Hunter to silence and stood watching the girl bleed until he heard the door to the outer office close, then he transferred his scowl to the corpse leaking brain and blood onto his rug. "If there ever was an unused organ," he said. "Nahwac, get an emergency team up here, the girl's alive. Her shoulder's a mess, but it's nothing serious. You have the names of those guards?"
"Yes, sir. You want one to send Cipapil and his crew to deal with them?"
"Yes. Scrub the flakes and dump that…" he jabbed a forefinger at the dead Plicik, "in the eel vats. Get onto Piskwakan, tell him… you know what to tell him. The medics, make it Doctor Meskew and his mutes. Tell him to bring a bodybag for the kana; one wants a reading on the poison if he can manage it. One doesn't expect miracles, chances are it's something organic and impossibly complicated. Besides being offworld muck. The girl goes to the infirmary in this building. If she has medications In her gear, tell Meskew and his to try them first. Oppalatin only knows what her internal workings are like; she looks normal enough, but make sure Meskew knows better than to take that as given. I want a noleak seal on that room, a round-the-clock watch on her, make sure the guards know one will have them hung from their foreskins if half a whisper slips out. Get hold of Ocipahweh, one doesn't care what he's busy with. One wants him for them," jab of his finger at Rohant and Kikun, "have him and his men take them to the quarters you, got ready for them. Signal through when Meskew gets here, the door's going to be locked and barred until this mess is cleaned up."
"Yes sir. If Ocipahweh Is Outcity? One seems to remember he went into the Wetlands two days ago."
"You're right, one had forgotten. Call him in, he should be here within the hour. Meantime, hmmm, when you get a minute, take them over yourself with a squad of kanaweh. Take men you can trust…" a tight, sour twitch of his mouth, "or men we won't miss."
"Hmm. Ajeri tiszt, have you got through to Puk yet?"
"No, but he's on his way back. Better have the tranx ready, he's going to be in one of his things."
"See to it. When he is capable of reasoned discourse, bring him here."
"May take a while."
"We have time. There is no hurry now. The Avatars have seen to that."
"Ginny…"
"Yes?"
"Never mind."
Ginbiryol watched the fourth cell a few moments longer, grunted as the medics carried Shadith out and the Aide led Rohant and his beasts and Kikun away, then he went back to his scan of the developing scenes in the other Cells.
Chapter 18. Squeezing
The voice of a gnat burring in her ear, Shadith drifted up out of a drug haze, blinked her eyes open and stared into the face of a stranger. "Who…" The word was a breathy croak barely loud enough to break through the hum of the airconditioning.
"One is the Gospah Ayawit, child." He tired to brush the hair from her sweaty forehead, but she jerked away from his hand though she paid for
it with a swimmy half-faint. When her vision cleared, she saw the affronted look on his face, saw that he was contemplating forcing his touch on her. And she saw the moment when he changed his mind. He folded his hands across the bright beadwork panels on the front of his black robe and bent over her, dark and ominous and more frightening than she liked to admit. "What is your name?" he said. He had a rich rotund voice that dripped over her like melted butter and that was frightening also.
She shivered, closed her eyes. Here we go again. Do I tell the tale? Or do I say hell with it? Ahlahlah, I fell like shit fried. What happened anyway? I was shot, I think, I remember the sound of it… the pain… Gospah, gods, Aste said… Question… I can't stand…
The pain came back as the painkillers wore off. Her stomach turned over and waves of weakness muddled her head. What are they giving me? What kind of muck…
Under the sheet she closed her hands into fists. "Shadith," she said wearily.
"What are you?"
"Nothing to you." She opened her eyes a moment, let them droop shut again.
"Why did you come?"
"You think I want to be here?" She lay silent a mopent, then went into the tired litany she'd produced so many times before, speaking in a muttering whisper, telling herself she didn't care if he heard her or not, what could he do to her… she knew all too well what he could do, but she didn't want to think about that. Her Talent floated around her, amoebic and restless, without direction; it passed over him, tasted him, she had no sense he believed anything he heard, but she kept on until she finished.
"Why do you claim to be an Avatar?"