by Ann Maxwell
“Even better than before,” agreed Rheba.
Fssa made a flatulent noise. He had thought himself ugly until Rheba told him he was beautiful. Now he was slightly vain and more than a little jealous of any non-Fourth People that Rheba considered attractive. “It’s not bad,” he conceded, “even if it is lopsided and some of its crystals are scratched.”
Rheba smiled, but did not tease the Fssireeme. He was too easy to hurt. She noticed that metallic colors were running in random surges the length of his body. That usually only happened when he was uneasy, verging on fearful. “What’s wrong, Fssa?”
The snake moved in a sinuous ripple. His blind opalescent “eyes” quested toward her hair. “Have you—did you—” Fssa made a strangled noise and tried again. “Ssimmi,” he hissed, using the accents of his native language. “Does the navtrix know where Ssimmi is?”
She touched him lightly, letting energy course from her fingertip through his body. The Fssireeme shivered in delight. “I haven’t asked yet,” she said. “Go ahead.”
Fssa whistled a complex trill. The Devalon’s computer responded, lighting the navtrix while the two energy constructs exchanged information. It took only an instant for the negative to chime.
“Maybe you garbled the translation,” said Rheba. Then, at Fssa’s indignant squawk, she added, “You’re excited, Fssa. Maybe you just weren’t as careful as you could have been. Or maybe the Equality knows Ssimmi by another name. Don’t look so sad.” She stroked the snake’s darkened body, trying to call up a ripple of color. “Try again,” she coaxed.
Fssa questioned the computer again. He used the Bre’n language, making the dry question resonate with melancholy and regret. Only a bare hint of hope echoed after the query.
The negative chimed again.
The snake darkened, then changed. He asked the question again, using another language, another name for his home planet of Ssimmi.
The negative chimed.
More languages, more questions, more names. And the same answer.
“I just wanted to swim Ssimmi’s seething sky/seas once before I die,” whistled Fssa. But the Bre’n words said more, much more, telling of loss and longing, a winter seed calling to the heart of a vanished summer.
Rheba lifted the sad Fssireeme off Kirtn’s shoulders and wound the snake into her hair. She gathered energy until her hair crackled and shimmered, comforting Fssa in the only way she could. “There are more planets than the Equality knows,” she said, “and more navtrices. We’ll find your home if we have to turn the galaxy inside out.”
Fssa’s head rested on top of her ear. He sighed a Fssireeme thank you and coiled more securely in her hair.
“Is it—he? she?—all right?” asked Daemen. He had not understood Fssa’s Bre’n whistles, but the emotions had needed no translation.
“Just a little sad,” said Kirtn in Universal, easing his fingers through Rheba’s hair until he found the Fssireeme. He stroked the snake, knowing that Fssa appreciated touch as much as any legged being. “He hoped that the Equality navtrix would know where his home was.”
“Maybe the Seurs can help him,” said Daemen.
“Who or what are they?”
“The people who instruct my planet.”
“Teachers?” asked Kirtn.
Daemen hesitated. “They are hereditary mentors. That’s as close as I can come in Universal. They investigate all the histories of Daemen, then bring back their discoveries and instruct people in their proper use.”
“All the histories? What does that mean?” asked Rheba. “How can a planet have more than one history?”
“All planets do,” said Daemen, surprised. “They’ve been settled and resettled, colonized and recolonized, conquered and freed at least as many times as there are Cycles. We count Seventeen Cycles in the Equality. And that doesn’t begin to recognize events and dominions that were limited to one planet.”
Rheba blinked, surprised by Daemen’s sudden enthusiasm and . . . assurance. He was more man than boy now. He spoke in the accents of someone used to being heard. “Are you a Seur?”
“I’m The Seur, just as I’m The Daemen.”
“What does that mean?” asked Kirtn, measuring Daemen’s sudden power and remembering Satin’s warning. “Are you some kind of king or emperor on Daemen?”
Daemen’s face showed an amusement far beyond his apparent age. “That’s one way of putting it. But it’s not that simple. Cultures rarely are, you know. I can’t just wave my hand and thousands of people kiss my toes.” He sighed. “Do you know anything at all about my planet?”
The wistful tone made him back into a child again. Rheba leaned forward and touched his hand comfortingly, drawn as all akhenets were to vulnerability. “No, but we’d like to. Will you tell us?”
Daemen’s fingertips caressed the back of Rheba’s hand. Neither one of them noticed Kirtn’s sudden stiffness. But Rheba did not object to the familiar touch, so Kirtn did not.
“We’ve been settled, and unsettled,” he added wryly, “more times than any other Equality planet. We’re on a natural replacement route. Do you know about those? No, I can see you don’t. It doesn’t matter. Your ship has power to spare.”
“How do you know?” said Kirtn roughly. He and Rheba had been careful to say very little about their ship. The dead Trader Jal’s lust for the Devalon had been part of why they had been enslaved on Loo. They had no desire to arouse the greed of anyone else.
“Only five replacements to Daemen. Isn’t that what you said?” he asked Rheba.
“Yes. And three changeovers.”
Daemen dismissed the changeovers with a flick of one long finger. Even the most primitive ship could change direction and speed. “Daemen has some of the highest technology available to the Equality, thanks to the Seurs. Yet it took my family’s ship eleven replacements to reach Onan.”
“Eleven? Are you sure?” asked Kirtn, surprise clear in his voice. “You were very young, weren’t you?”
“I was young, but I wasn’t deaf and blind. It was my first time in space. I remember each changeover and replacement perfectly. It was a dream come true. It was the first time I really believed that I was the luckiest man alive.” His face changed as he remembered the nightmare that had followed. “Eleven replacements. I’m sure.”
Daemen looked into Rheba’s cinnamon eyes, trying to see if she believed him. “Your ship represents a quantum leap in knowledge to me. I’m The Seur. I’m interested in technology that might help my people. That’s why The Daemen—my mother—left home. She hadn’t been very lucky at finding useful technology in the old places. And without such finds, my people will eventually die.”
Rheba and Kirtn looked at one another. Each knew the other was remembering Deva, where their own people had died. Finally, Rheba spoke. “Are your people in immediate danger?”
“I don’t know. I think so. The situation must have been desperate or the Seurs wouldn’t have sent our planet’s Luck into space looking for a solution.”
“Your planet’s luck?” asked Rheba, not understanding.
“My mother, The Daemen. She was our planet’s Luck. We’re bred for it. But there was some sort of problem with her. She never found anything useful after the first time—and even that was a minor find, a way of dyeing synthetic fibers red. Unfortunately, she didn’t find a way of making synthetic fibers that would take that particular color.”
Rheba and Kirtn exchanged another look. It was Kirtn who turned back to question Daemen. “So your mother went out into the Equality to find new technologies to help your people, is that it?”
Daemen smiled crookedly. “Mostly, yes. The Seurs insisted she take her whole family with her. Probably thought she’d need all the Luck she could lift.” The smile faded. “It wasn’t enough. We hadn’t been on Onan a day before we were kidnapped and sent to Loo.”
“Trader Jal?” asked Kirtn.
“Greasy man with blue hair, blue skin and a scar on one hand?”
; “Yes.”
“That’s the one. He kept complaining that we weren’t worth the energy to transport us to Loo. Actually”—his lips twisted in a mocking smile—“he was right. Everyone died in the Pit but me, and I didn’t bring much of a price.” He paused. “You did kill him, didn’t you?”
“Jal?” Kirtn touched Rheba’s hair where Fssa lay hidden. “The Fssireeme killed him.”
Daemen looked at Rheba’s hair with new interest. “Poisonous?”
“No.” Then, before he could ask more questions, Kirtn asked one of his own. “Who’s ruling—instructing—the planet while you’re gone?”
“The Seurs.”
“Are they going to be glad to see you?” asked the Bre’n bluntly.
Surprise crossed Daemen’s unlined face, making him look even younger. “Of course. The planet must be in a bad way by now. Its Luck has been gone for years.”
“There are many kinds of luck,” pointed out Kirtn. “Most kinds you’re better off without.”
“Are you saying that my mother was Bad Luck?" Daemen’s face was flushed, furious. He spit out the last two words as though they were the most offensive epithet he knew.
Before Kirtn could reply, the ship chimed and warned of a coming replacement. There was a subdued rush for handholds and braces; at high speeds, replacement could be unpleasant. The ship shuddered once, sending its interior into blackness. Gradually the light and colors returned, but in the subdued halftones that indicated the ship was still in replacement mode.
Kirtn let go of the pilot mesh and turned to look for Daemen. No one was there. He remembered the angry young face and sighed. He had not meant to offend Daemen. He certainly had no desire to kill Daemen, as Satin had ordered.
On the other hand, Kirtn knew he would not be entirely comfortable while Daemen was on board. He told himself it was because of Satin’s enigmatic warning-—but he kept remembering Daemen’s pale fingers stroking the back of Rheba’s hand.
VII
Rheba awoke moaning and clutching her head. She lashed out reflexively, trying to reach the source of her pain. Her hand hit the hard muscles of Kirtn’s chest. He woke, realized what was happening and held her tightly against his body.
“'Fssa!” yelled Kirtn. “Fssa!”
There was no answer. Kirtn combed his fingers through Rheba’s hair, knowing that he would not find the snake there but hoping anyhow. As he had feared, the Fssireeme was not there. He was off somewhere on the ship, talking to Rainbow, causing Rheba’s pain.
She screamed, half asleep, knowing only that an animal was trapped in her brain and gnawing its way to freedom. She writhed and fought Kirtn while he tried to keep her from banging her head against the unyielding walls.
A slim form bent over the bunk and grabbed one of Rheba’s flailing hands. Kirtn looked up and saw Daemen. The young man’s face was tight with fear.
“What is it?” asked Daemen, wrestling with Rheba’s surprising strength. “Is she sick?”
“No. She’s just—”
Rheba’s body convulsed. Her akhenet lines flared as though she were under attack.
“Let go of her,” said Kirtn, realizing the danger.
“She’s hot! I didn’t know anyone could be so hot and live!”
“Let go!” Kirtn’s harsh tone said more than words.
Daemen leaped back just as Rheba burst into flames. Energy coursed dangerously, leaping out toward the crowded control room. Kirtn’s strong hands pressed against the pulse in her neck. Just as the first searing tongues reached Daemen, Rheba groaned and went limp.
Kirtn held her, singing Bre’n apologies into her hair.
M/dere pushed forward, holding a black Fssireeme in her hard hands. Wordlessly, she tossed the limp snake onto the bunk.
Kirtn did not need a translator to tell him she would just as soon have killed the odd being who had caused her J/taaleri so much pain. The Bre’n was in complete agreement. He glared at Fssa, who was mortified by what had happened.
“Say something,” snarled Kirtn. “Tell me why I shouldn’t tie you in little knots and stuff you into the converter.”
“I thought . . . I thought I was out of her range,” whispered Fssa miserably. “It was all right the other times I spoke to Rainbow.” The Fssireeme was dead black, not even a hint of color along his sinuous length. “I don’t know what happened.”
“Where were you?”
“In the tool niche.” Fssa did not add that the tool niche was precisely where Kirtn had told him to go to talk with Rainbow.
The Bre’n swore, then sighed. He stroked Rheba’s hair. She was sleeping now, true sleep, not the unconsciousness he had forced on her moments ago. Her strength had shocked him then. It made him thoughtful now. She was years too young to be so powerful. Already she commanded greater fire than many mature dancers he had known.
He smiled ruefully to himself, remembering that it was the potential of devastating/renewing energies that had first drawn him to a sleeping Senyas baby called Rheba. She had fulfilled her promise—and more.
Fssa made a small noise. In a Fourth People it would have been called throat-clearing, but the Fssireeme had no throat to clear. “Rainbow is bigger since it absorbed those other crystals,” said Fssa in Senyas. “It speaks much more clearly now, although its memories are still only fragments of a greater past.”
“It speaks much too clearly now,” Kirtn said grimly. “Rheba went into convulsions and nearly slagged the control room before I stopped her.”
Silence spread outward from the Fssireeme. He became an even denser black. Kirtn sighed again. The snake was not at fault; he had not known that Rainbow’s increased size would also increase its range and ability to cause Rheba pain.
“I just wanted to know if Rainbow had ever heard of Ssimmi,” whispered Fssa. Though he spoke in Senyas, he added a whistle of Bre’n longing that made everyone within hearing ache with sympathy.
Kirtn’s anger slid away. He knew what it was to lose a home. The cataract of fire that had destroyed his planet was also burned into his brain. Even in his dreams, Deva was dead. “Did you find your planet?”
Kirtn’s gentle tone brought a glimmer of lightness back to the snake’s body. “No,” said Fssa sadly. “Rainbow had never heard of it under any of the names I know. But if we find more stones, maybe more of Rainbow’s memory will return. Maybe then it will know Ssimmi.”
“Maybe. But snake—”
“Yes?”
“Be sure you’re out of Rheba’s range when you ask. Be very sure.”
Fssa’s whistled agreement was full of apologies and promises. Before the last note died, the ship chimed and announced that the final replacement was imminent. The Fssireeme repeated the announcement, loudly, in several languages at once. There was a subdued scramble for secure positions.
The maneuver was brief and smooth, but it woke Rheba. She retained only a vague memory of pain. It was enough. She looked at Fssa with anger lighting the cinnamon depths of her eyes.
“He was asking about Ssimmi,” said Kirtn quickly. “In the tool niche.”
She absorbed the information in silence. Then, “Did he find his home?”
“No.”
“Too bad. That would have made it worth the pain. Almost.” She grimaced and rubbed her temples, trying to banish the echoes of agony. “Where are we?”
As though in answer, the ship chimed and announced that it would come out of replacement in three seconds. The ship quivered very slightly, chimed, and announced that it had taken up a far orbit around the planet Daemen.
Rheba pushed forward to the pilot mesh, but did not object when Kirtn pulled it over himself instead of her. The aftermath of Fssa’s chat with Rainbow had affected her reflexes just enough to make communication with the computer a chore rather than a pleasure.
Kirtn quickly checked that there were neither active nor passive defenses in the area. Apparently the planet was either unarmed or so subtly armed that the Devalon’s sensors were defeated.
Judging from Daemen’s remarks about the advanced technology of the ship, Kirtn decided that the planet was probably as harmless as it appeared from orbit. With a silent prayer to the Inmost Fire, he guided the ship into a close orbit.
The planet ballooned in the viewscreen, then shrank into seeming solidarity as the image was transformed into a hologram. Rheba and Kirtn watched in silence as the rust-colored world with the vanishingly thin atmosphere turned overhead in the control room.
As Daemen had said, the planet was a dismal place. Rock and not much else.
“Is it as dead as it looks?” asked Rheba finally.
Daemen answered over her shoulder, startling her. “That depends on what you’re used to. It’s not all overrun with plants like Loo or oceans like Onan. We have a lot of space to ourselves.”
Kindly, Rheba did not point out that few other Fourth People in the galaxy would want to live in that space. She remembered some of the geological history she had been taught on Deva and looked thoughtfully at the world turning slowly overhead. “Didn’t you ever have oceans or big lakes—something?” she asked as the planet revealed a waterless southern hemisphere.
“No. Actually, the Seurs believe that Fourth People or any other kind of advanced life couldn’t have evolved here. We think we were colonized during the Zaarain Cycle. They’re the only ones who would have had a technology equal to tapping the planet’s core for energy and water. When the planet was first colonized—and that was so long ago the records are preserved as fossils in sandstone—there were no other life forms above the level of lichen. There still aren’t, except for us, and we depend entirely on installations left over from Cycles we know almost nothing about.”
“Why did anyone ever colonize this misbegotten rock?” asked Rheba absently, thinking aloud.
“I told you. It’s on a natural replacement route,” said Daemen, his voice a bit defensive. However repellent the planet might be to a fire dancer, it was his home.
“I didn’t mean it the way it sounded,” said Rheba. “It’s only that . . . there just isn’t much to the planet.”