by Ann Maxwell
“Do you know how the barbarians recognize willing Treats when they come out of God’s House?” she asked gently.
“They’re alive,” snapped Daemen.
“That’s part of it,” she agreed. “The rest of it is that they’re naked, clean, and in perfect health.”
Daemen looked at the two of them and then at his own grubby, scuffed self. “Oh no . . .”
“Oh yes!” said Kirtn triumphantly.
Without warning, he snatched The Luck and heaved him into the soup. Daemen’s indignant squawk ended in a huge splash.
“That was mean,” observed Rheba.
Kirtn’s only answer was a whistle that rippled with satisfaction.
XIX
“Do you suppose he’ll be in long?” asked Rheba.
Kirtn stretched hugely, flexing muscles that were no longer strained and sore. “Doubt it. He was hardly scratched. Lucky cherf. Gets everyone else to do his work for him.”
“What do you mean?”
He smiled and ruffled her electric hair. “His technology just fell into his hands, but he doesn’t even know it.”
“I think the zoolipt fed you something it didn’t feed me. You’re still floating.”
He laughed and blew into her hair. It rose around him like fine gold smoke, shimmering with life. He had never seen her so vivid. “What do the Seurs need more than anything else?”
She sent up a tendril of hair to tickle his sensitive ears. “Decent food,” she said, grimacing at the memory of her one Seur meal. “Reliable wouldn’t hurt, either.”
He peeled away the maddening hair and wound it around his finger. “Right,” he said, echoing Scuvee. “And what does the zoolipt want?”
“Treats,” she said promptly. Then, “Of course! But how do you get the Seurs to the zoolipt? I don’t think they would mix well with Scuvee’s folks.”
“That’s The Luck’s problem.”
They looked at the pool. Daemen was floating helplessly, a bemused look on his face. He obviously could not swim. It did not matter. The zoolipt supported him as surely as solid ground, and far more comfortably.
“Still has his clothes,” noted Kirtn.
“I hope he’s all right,” said Rheba. “He was pretty scared.”
The Bre’n made a flatulent noise that stirred Fssa’s admiration. The snake hissed blissfully, reveling in Rheba’s lively hair. He was all but invisible, matching his surface color exactly with the shimmering mass around him. He formed a pair of sensors and directed them at the pool.
“Daemen is fine,” whistled Fssa. “He’s laughing, not choking.”
“I hope he doesn’t drink any,” she said anxiously.
“With his luck,” muttered the Bre’n, “it would give him eternal life.”
“There go his clothes.”
“Shouldn’t be long now,” said Kirtn.
The zoolipt swirled in shades of blue around Daemen, then swelled into a wave.
“Here he comes.” Kirtn measured the wave’s direction and speed, moved three steps to the left, and caught Daemen before his feet touched the ground. “There,” he said, setting The Luck upright. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Daemen gave the Bre’n a reproachful look. “You could have warned me.”
“That’s right,” said Kirtn. “I could have.”
The Luck hesitated. “I wouldn’t have believed you anyway, I suppose.”
Kirtn put his hand on The Luck’s shoulder, liking him in spite of himself. “Let’s pick up Rainbow and get back to the Seurs.”
Daemen’s smiled faded. “I can’t go back. I don’t have anything. Fssa said that Rainbow won’t work for me.” He peered into Rheba’s seething hair, looking for the Fssireeme. “Does he always tell the truth?”
Fssa’s head darted out, sensors wheeling. He was so outraged that he formed two mouths, screaming his innocence out of one and his trustworthiness out of the other.
Rheba looked skeptical. Fssa considered Rainbow a friend and fellow sentient being. Daemen considered Rainbow a machine, and a badly tuned one at that.
“Quiet!” yelled Kirtn.
The Bre’n’s bellow made Fssa wilt. One mouth vanished entirely. The other one shrank until it was almost too small to see. He blushed in dark shades of gray.
“Rainbow is irrelevant,” said the Bre’n mildly.
Fssa’s relieved sigh was very human.
“What do you mean?” Daemen said, his voice harsh with disappointment and irritation.
“You were just head over heels in the most advanced technology this planet has seen since the Zaarains,” said Kirtn dryly. “What do you need with a collection of reluctant crystals?”
“We already have a recycler.”
“Like that?”
Daemen turned and stared at the zoolipt. Turquoise lights winked back at him. “No, but . . .”
Kirtn waited.
Fssa spoke, his voice subdued but hopeful. “Square One’s zoolipt is unique. When this Installation went discordant, the hospital zoolipt adapted. It spread through the connectors and merged with the recycler zoolipt. That was a long time ago. It sent some of itself through the other connectors to other Installations. That’s all that saved your people when the grid went eccentric. A machine would have broken down. The zoolipt . . . evolved.”
Daemen kept staring at the zoolipt, amazement and disbelief on his face. “Are you saying that pool is alive?"
“Yes,” said Rheba before Fssa could answer. “I sensed it.”
Daemen switched his look of disbelief to her. “I didn’t know you were a liwwen,” he said flatly.
“Mind dancer,” said Fssa, automatically translating the Daemenite word into a concept familiar to Rheba.
“I’m not. But a fire dancer is sensitive to patterns of energy. The zoolipt’s pattern isn’t that of a machine. It’s alive.”
Daemen looked back at the pool stretching away into the darkness. “All of it?” he said weakly.
Rheba blinked. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
Her hair shifted, then spread into a disciplined fan as she sampled the various energies that permeated the pool. Kirtn moved to position behind her, hands resting lightly where her neck joined her shoulders. His presence greatly enhanced both the power and precision of her search.
Daemen watched, fascinated by the play of energy through her akhenet lines. He was also more than a little fascinated by the supple body beneath the lines. His thoughts triggered the inevitable physiological response. He looked away, wishing the zoolipt had not eaten his clothes.
When Rheba was finished, she sighed and opened eyes that were as bright as her akhenet lines. Kirtn glanced over at Daemen, wondering how The Luck had reacted to seeing a healthy fire dancer at work. It did not take a mind dancer to know what The Luck was thinking. Not for the first time, Kirtn wryly decided that men had invented clothes as much to conceal their desires as to protect their genitals.
“I think just the currents are alive,” said Rheba.
“What good does that do us?” said Daemen, his back to her as he stared at the zoolipt.
“It’s a lot easier to take back a scoop of zoolipt than the whole pond,” she said impatiently.
“I left my scoop at Centrins.” Daemen’s voice was more than a little sarcastic. “Besides, what good would it do?”
Rheba looked at him, puzzled.
Kirtn’s lips struggled not to smile.
Fssa spoke in the tones of a patient mother. “Zoolipts are intelligent. Intelligent beings need variety. If they don’t get it, they invent it. Bored zoolipts play tricks,” continued the snake in round, patient tones. “If they get too bored, they go mad. Mad zoolipts eventually kill their people. I think the Centrins zoolipt is going mad.”
Daemen looked around. The impact of the Fssireeme’s words drove all desire from The Luck. “What?”
“Your zoolipt is crazy,” summed up the snake. “It’s starving your people to death because that’s more amusing t
han feeding them pap. It likes to see the Seurs run around and jump tables to be fed. Either it doesn’t understand that it’s killing the Seurs or it doesn’t care anymore. It’s been feeding Seurs for eons, you know,” added Fssa almost apologetically. “And all it gets in return is garbage. It knows every molecule by name. The only variety it has is when something living falls into the soup. All those wonderful enzymes to play with. . . .
“At least, that’s what Rainbow said about this zoolipt, and this zoolipt and yours were the same a very long time ago. Square One’s zoolipt is part of a hospital zoolipt, remember. It was designed to make Fourth People healthy. If you put in some of this zoolipt with your zoolipt, the combination could be the salvation of Centrins.”
The Luck stared at the Fssireeme and then at the fire dancer. “I think,” said Daemen slowly, “that my Luck just ran out. I’m finally as crazy as that snake. The Seurs will never believe me.”
Kirtn laughed shortly. “It doesn’t matter what they believe.” He leaned forward, forcing Daemen to look at him. “Don’t tell the Seurs that Square One’s zoolipt is alive and that Centrins’ zoolipt is crazy. Just take some of this zoolipt home, pour it into the Centrins recycler and wait for “fat times and fancy flavors” to pour out the feeding stations. After one good meal the Seurs will believe anything you tell them.”
“Will it work?” asked Daemen dubiously.
“Do you have a better idea?” snapped Kirtn.
Daemen sighed. “How will we carry it?”
Rheba muttered and shook her head. Fssa dropped into her hands. “We just happen to have a container. Do your trick, snake.”
With a disgruntled sound, Fssa swelled to three times his normal size. A network of metallic gray and blue glowed sullenly over his length, saying more clearly than words what he thought of the situation.
“Will that be enough?” said Daemen.
“You want any more,” said Fssa, echoing oddly, “swallow it yourself!”
Rheba walked over to the pool. Currents of turquoise and blue lapped at the edges. Other currents curled just out of reach, thick and thin, more colors of blue than she could name. She looked back. “All the currents are different. Which one would be the best?”
Kirtn looked blank for a moment. Then he smiled. He took Fssa in one hand and Daemen in the other. “It’s his problem. Let him solve it.”
He threw snake and naked Luck into the pool.
A hearty splash was followed by hot Daemenite phrases. Very quickly, the zoolipt returned man and snake to their normal environment. Fssa bulged like a long, water-filled balloon. Kirtn snickered, further offending the Fssireeme’s distended dignity.
“Are you quite through?” said Daemen icily to the Bre’n. “I’m tired of being tossed into the soup by an overgrown furry!”
“Anytime you can lift me, you can throw me in,” offered Kirtn.
“I’ll take Fssa,” said Rheba, stepping between the two as she lifted the snake out of Daemen’s hands. “If you made compartments,” she whispered to the Fssireeme, “you wouldn’t slosh so much.”
Fssa’s answer sounded more like a belch than anything else. He was too big to fit in his usual nest in her hair, and too heavy for her to carry easily. Kirtn saw the problem, took the snake and, apologizing, tied the Fssireeme in a loose knot around his neck.
Silently, the three walked back to the access panel. It was closed. Rainbow was mounded in front of it, each facet shining as though it had been polished by a master jeweler.
“It’s bigger,” said Rheba unhappily. The bigger Rainbow got, the greater its range and the worse her headaches. “It must have swiped the core’s biggest crystals.” She picked up the Zaarain construct. It slid facet over facet until it was a double-strand necklace. “Here,” she said, handing it over to Daemen. “You wear the damn thing. Maybe the Seurs will be impressed.”
Rainbow made a wonderfully barbaric display. Shards of colored light splintered in the depths of crystals created by men and methods that were remembered only in myths.
Silently, The Luck pulled Rainbow over his head. He led Rheba and Kirtn to the front door of the Installation.
The three of them made a striking display as they stepped out of God’s House and into the planet’s brief twilight. The Luck’s rare beauty was reflected in Rainbow’s thousand facets. Kirtn wore only his suede-textured skin and a sullen Fssireeme knotted around his powerful neck. Between Luck and Bre’n stood Rheba, dressed in a blazing network of akhenet lines.
A nearby Scavenger took one look at the Treats, spun around and ran off yelling for Scuvee. She was not far away. Like most of the Scavengers, she was gathered around a feeding station, waiting for God’s verdict on the Treats it had been fed.
Scuvee looked at the three people who had emerged from God’s House. Then she looked at Daemen. “You must be The Luck, all right. Nobody else has walked out of there for as long as Scavengers can remember.” She threw back her head and laughed triumphantly. “Fine eats and fancy flavors for sure! Then the shaval pile,” she added, her glance sliding back to Kirtn.
Fssa’s translation was slurred, but understandable.
Rheba grimaced. “Some other time, maybe. We have to get The Luck back to his people.”
Scuvee’s smile vanished, leaving a hard expression behind: “Don’t think so, Pretty Treat. Not until God gets bored with your taste.”
Kirtn looked at the crowd that was gathering around them. The Scavengers wore expressions of awe, greed and anticipation. They watched the Treats with the eyes of a miser counting credits.
“How long will it take for God to get bored?” asked Daemen.
Scuvee spread her hands. “Not long. Two lives. Maybe three.”
“Lives?” said Daemen weakly.
“Right. Don’t worry, though. Legend says that when God likes your taste, it makes you immortal.” She smiled, showing uneven teeth. “You’ve got all the time there is, Little Treat. And we’ve got ourselves the best eats ever.”
The Scavengers folded possessively around their Treats.
XX
Sounds of muted and not-so-muted merriment filtered into the house where the Treats were being held. Scuvee’s guards stood outside the door, grumbling about having to work while others played in a shaval pile. They were not too disgruntled, however. Their stomachs were stretched tightly over a dinner that would be legend among the Scavengers.
God had truly enjoyed its Treats.
“Don’t they ever sleep?” said Rheba, turning away from the peeling window. Beyond the window’s ancient distortions, the Scavengers whooped and laughed and chased each other from one shaval drift to the next.
Daemen looked up glumly and said nothing.
Kirtn shrugged. If he had waited as long for a decent meal as the Scavengers had, he would celebrate too. He picked absently at flakes of window dangling from invisible fibers.
The material was very tough. Rheba had tried to burn some of it. After a lot of energy, it smoldered fitfully and softened. She could burn their way out of the house, but it would take a long time and more energy than she could easily draw from moonlight. Sunrise would be a different matter. Energy would be abundant and, she hoped, the Scavengers would be comatose after a night of celebration.
If forced to, Rheba would tap the Zaarain core. Neither she nor Kirtn wanted that. Zaarain energies were highly complex, dangerous and difficult to channel. Even a master dancer with centuries of experience would hesitate to tangle with a Zaarain core.
There was also the fact that once tapped, the core might go eccentric. The Scavengers who survived that would live only long enough to die of starvation. Neither Rheba nor Kirtn wanted to be responsible for more deaths.
On the other hand, neither one of them planned to spend the next few centuries as Treats for a shapeless God.
“Scuvee’s coming,” said Kirtn, turning away from the peeling window.
“Probably wants you for the shaval pile,” snapped Rheba.
He
smiled and wisely said nothing.
Fssa, still loosely knotted around Kirtn’s neck, extruded a dish-shaped listening apparatus and pointed it at the door. He added a circle of metallic red quills that quivered and combed the air as though alive. Ripples of metallic colors coursed over his distended body.
Daemen stared, still unused to seeing Fssireeme transformations. Rheba and Kirtn watched for a different reason. It was rare to see Fssa having difficulty picking up Fourth People speech.
Fssa changed again, substituting a convex dish for the concave one. Quills vanished, only to reappear as a platinum ruff around the dish. Rheba and Kirtn looked at each other. They had never seen the Fssireeme in that shape. Whatever was beyond that door was something new.
Silently, Kirtn set Fssa on the floor and came to stand behind Rheba. She gathered energy, preparing for whatever the next minutes might bring.
The door opened. A battered Scuvee walked in. Her jaw was so swollen she could not talk. Her grunts and gestures were enough, though. She pointed to the porch, pushed the guard who had followed her into the room back over the threshold and slammed the door.
Instantly, Fssa changed back into a snake and began spouting long phrases in a language that was neither Universal nor Daemenite. Scuvee’s face blurred and reformed into the colorless features of f’lTiri, the Yhelle illusionist Rheba had rescued on Loo.
F’lTiri smiled, changing his face from bland to slyly humorous. “Surprised?” he asked in soft Yhelle.
Fssa translated unobtrusively into Senyas. Although f’lTiri knew Universal, so did quite a few of the natives. It would be safer to speak Yhelle and not to be understood by eavesdroppers.
“How did you get here?” demanded Kirtn in Senyas. “Is the ship safe?”
Rheba visibly burned with unasked questions, but she waited to hear f’lTiri’s explanations.
The Yhelle looked a little uncomfortable. “The ship is as safe as it can be without full power.”
“I told the Devalon not to let anyone in or out without my express permission,” said Kirtn flatly. “As long as the ship is intact, it obeys me. You’re here, so the ship isn’t intact.”