by Lyn Gala
Liam struggled to find something to say. Anything would be better than the silence. “Did you get the money from my military salary?”
Luke shook his head as if he was trying to clear water from his ears. “Yeah. Absolutely. I can’t thank you enough for that. It will take a big load off my shoulders. It’s a bigger load off Dana’s shoulders. She’s my partner. I was hoping you would have a chance to meet her.” He frowned.
“I wish I could.” Liam surprised himself by meaning it. He wished he could know something about Luke’s life, but this wasn’t his world. Not anymore.
“Yeah.” Luke scratched his head again. “So, how’d you end up so freakishly tall?”
That felt like a safer topic. “Imshee genetic engineering. They were trying to suck up to Ondry, possibly because Ondry was so angry with them that he was contemplating ripping off random legs.”
“Oh. That sounds...”
“Violent?” Liam said, filling in the silence.
Luke shrugged. “Maybe a little. I was actually thinking overprotective. Spooner said the Rownt were pretty overprotective with you.”
“Spooner? You know Spooner?”
Luke headed for the tall couches scattered around the area, and Liam followed.
They chose seats several feet apart on the same sofa, and Liam studied the herringbone pattern on the fabric.
“I don’t know him, know him,” Luke said. “He asked for information on you.”
Liam groaned. “For the book.” He hated that damn book. There was nothing like having the worst mistakes of his life published with full-color inserts. Mort had still retained his roguish good looks, even in that last mug shot. Liam’s stomach dropped so fast that he had to sit. “You’ve read the book.” He stared at Luke in horror. No. No no no no no. No, this was not happening.
Luke turned pink. “I hate that you lived through that.”
When Liam’s cheeks got hot, he knew he had a matching blush. Liam rubbed the back of his neck. “It happened. I moved on.”
Luke winced. “Mom never forgot you. You were always her golden first-born.”
Since he had no idea what to say, Liam didn’t say anything. He had adored his mother and been angry with her in equal parts. When he’d received the official notification of death, he’d begged a bottle of booze off Gina and gotten himself good and drunk. It wasn’t a good memory.
“Did you get any of our letters?”
“Um... sure, when I was at Landing,” Liam said. “I didn’t know what to write back.” During the first part of his stay, Liam could have explained how great life was if you spread your legs for the sergeant in charge of assignments. Then later, he could have explained how to get tactical gear off a dead body, which sometimes required using a laser to cut off body parts. Liam had never wanted his family to know any of that, but Spooner had taken away Liam’s ability to keep the details to himself.
Luke chewed on his lower lip and nodded. He was probably thinking about the same damn horrifying stories. “Did you get any while you were on Prarownt?”
“No. I assumed that since I didn’t write back, you stopped.” Liam sighed when he saw the pained expression on Luke’s face. “I see my assumption was wrong.”
“Mom and I both kept writing.” Luke grimaced before adding, “I’m not proud of some of the things I said in the later letters. I guess I wanted to apologize for being a little shit.”
“I never got the letters, so no harm, no foul.”
“Oh no.” Luke finally looked at Liam. “I still need to apologize. I made assumptions, and I had no right. You were always a good person, a good big brother, so I shouldn’t have assumed that you would abandon us.”
“I ran off and went surfing,” Liam reminded him. He’d run off for other reasons related to Mort, but Liam had no intention of opening that wound.
Luke laughed. “Exactly. You were a big brother.” He reached over and caught Liam’s hand in his. “There are these things called socnets. They blast messages through subspace so you can keep up with people on other planets. I hear they work pretty well.” Despite the sarcasm, Luke’s voice was soft and hopeful.
“I should try that.” Luke smiled, the edges of his eyes crinkling. “I will definitely try that.”
He squeezed his brother’s hand carefully. After all, Luke was so much smaller and more fragile. Liam never wanted to hurt his brother. Not again.
Walking A Large Border Part One
Sometime in Prarownt history...
She kept her eyes on the horizon, watching for an enemy, or potential enemy. This was a Grandmother's duty, to walk the territory and ensure that she understood everything that happened inside it.
And these newcomers that came in metal boxes that burned the sky left her painfully uninformed. How could something built by a hand rise so high? Some Rownt claimed to have then seen them vanish out of the heavens as if the old gods had plucked them out of existence.
Impossible.
More concerning, the people had started to think of these odd sights as normal. Many in the younger ranks dismissed the sights as unimportant, but she remembered when the strangers had first come and Grandmothers had walked out with weapons to watch for enemies. She remembered a time when there was no burning above them, when there were no strangers with their misshapen bodies and unintelligible words.
She remembered when Prarownt had been filled with nothing more than the Rownt who had always lived here. And if these strangers with their strange boxes wished to come into her territory, she had a sacred duty protect her people. That was the vow she had taken as a Grandmother.
She walked with a reialet in her hand, the spiked edges pointed toward the ground in a gesture that, if these beings were rational, they would understand meant that she did not seek battle. But she carried it openly in a sign that she would happily engage in it anyway.
Considering that these strange creatures had the ability to rise into the air, she was not convinced that her reialet would save her if she found a battle, and she was not even sure that the high-energy projectile weapon hidden about her person would save her. However, if she died in battle, perhaps then the other Grandmothers would understand the danger in allowing strangers to walk unchallenged on Rownt land. As far as they were concerned, as long as the strangers did not move into the towns themselves, it was not the business of any Grandmother to interfere with them.
She disagreed.
She reached the top of the hill and looked down to the valley where travelers reported that the strangers had landed their flying carts and set up a village. The sight horrified her. Some great monster had cut the earth until it bled.
Unnatural pools of red and black water stood on the edge of giant machines that resembled oversized insects infesting a field. Piles of rocks were flung about and the land had been ruined for both hunter and prey. Her nose tightened in disgust at the sheer waste laid out in front of her. What benefit did powerful beings gain from damaging the planet? It made no sense to her, and there was a small part of her that wished to deny the existence of that which made no sense. But she was a rational creature, a student of calti—the belief that all things made sense if one only had enough information. She had to believe that these monsters who had invaded her world had some logic beyond the illogical desire to ruin what others used.
She headed down the steep slope, her fingers tight around the handle of her reialet. Others believed she was too quick to take alarm, but even the calmest of Grandmothers would feel the horror of this moment. She searched for some sign of life other than the machines that appeared to function without any to handle them. Some part of her had to admire the creators of such wonders, but why would they use such talents to create such harm.
It made no sense, and once again she vowed to herself that she would lay no more eggs until she had found a way to make sense of the world once again. A door opened in what she had thought was a solid wall, and a creature appeared. She had seen strangers like this one before, but fr
om a distance. It had legs like a prey animal, but the two front ended in formidable weapons—claws that made her wary of the creature's intentions. Very little scared her. She had fought kawt and won, and few things were more dangerous than a hunting kawt.
However, up close, these strangers made her doubt her ability to take care of herself. The creature appeared fragile with long, insubstantial legs. But then it slammed those claws down, and the ground trembled. It had power.
It also had hands tucked up under the belly, and it clutched tools or weapons of some sort. She wondered what sort of weapons might be made by creatures with the power to make houses fly into the sky.
The creature lumbered closer, stopping outside attack distance. Then it squatted with the huge back legs folded under it. It had hair like a prey animal, but it was as thick as grass, and much the same color.
She stood taller. “I am the third eldest Grandmother of the town of Prabrateakil, a hunter of kawt and trader of kawt skins. I am the chosen acolyte of the eldest Grandmother of Pratoalta and one respected for my study of biological systems.”
She stopped, not sure what to add. Her horror would have her demand for an explanation for the carnage all around her. Her training in calti would tell her to ask these strange creatures for answers until she understood what purpose they could have in doing such harm. Her duty as a Grandmother made her fear that anything that could wreck such havoc posed a danger to her town.
Unable to choose a course of action, she remained silent and waited for some sign that these strange creatures understood her. For all she knew, she could be talking to the equivalent of a domesticated beast of burden. The creature shifted with its too many legs. Those limbs bent at angles that made her worry about their ability to strike an enemy. Or perhaps she should worry more about the hands along the creature's belly, hands that grasped strange tools that she could not understand.
Finally, the creature spoke. “You are one who breeds.” The Rownt words came out of the machine at the creature’s feet. It was an accurate description, if inexplicable. Every Rownt could breed. She was not unique in that. However, the words were true. “Yes.”
The creature chittered. “Why do you come here and here?” it asked.
“I seek to understand the damage you do to my world.”
“We and we do not damage.”
Even if these creatures could make blocks of metal or rock fly, she questioned their intelligence. Not only did they speak oddly, but they used words that were untrue. “You damaged this place,” she contradicted it.
“We and all we seek ore.” The last word did not sound Rownt. It did not sound like a word at all—more like an insect chittering in the night.
“Define ore.”
A great shivering went through the creature and several limbs twitched. Perhaps the stranger communicated with his own people through some sort of visual signs. Many hunting groups developed a system of codes so that they could speak to each other across the valleys without spooking the prey animal between them. After a time, the creature said, “Ore is rock appropriate to make metal.” It tapped its claw-like appendage against the machine that translated. It tinged.
She knew that sound well. When she had still worked as a hunter, she had often traded for weapons that sounded like that. She held up her reialet and tapped a spike. “Is this metal?”
“Yes.” The creature said.
“There is no metal in these rocks,” she said without any doubt. Rocks that yielded metal were so valuable that those who controlled the area could demand a high price for their weapons. There were few places where a trader could find enough profit to prove her value, but in the matter of metals, there was more profit to be had than traders to claim it. “The rocks for ore are far away and removing them from the ground does not require damage.”
More shivering. She was a hunter, and she knew the movement of grass, or of an animal’s hair as it moved. This creature’s hair moved in segments, some with the movement of the limbs and some against. It was an odd creature that learned to control the direction of hair. She had skinned and studied prey and found nothing that would suggest an animal that had muscles fine enough for such an ability. It said, “Different metal. Different ore. Different rock. The ore we and we need is here.”
She had to admit a great ignorance in the placement of value on rocks. However, she did not know of anyone who valued rocks in this valley, and she did not know the relative worth of the rocks against the need of the hunters to maintain land appropriate for their prey. “Your removal causes damage.” By saying as much, she was effectively claiming the valley as part of her territory. The other Grandmothers would not be pleased, especially the eldest.
However, if she did not claim the valley, it would be their hunters who suffered. A town rose or fell on the strength of hunters. Those who tended plants could provide many calories and valuable nutrients for those in town, but a Rownt required much protein. Only hunters could provide that, which is why one often said that a Grandmother provided the eggs but the hunters fed the egglings. Eggs were common enough, but someone had to provide for egglings no matter what. Only hunters could do that. She would not have her town forced to seek other ground because the hunters were unable to feed them.
There was more odd movement of hair. “We and we need ore.”
She took a step closer, signaling her unwillingness to back down. “We need the valley.”
“Describe quality of need,” the creature said.
Her eyes widened. Perhaps these creatures were also students of calti. It was said that information was only proper currency for Grandmothers, but she decided to share some truth with the strangers. “This valley provides food for our town. You drive away the prey that would feed the children of my village.”
That caused another series of spasms and jerks as if the creature were unwell and some fever drove its movement. “We and we provide food, we and we take ore.”
Apparently, they were negotiating. She feared that when she got home, the other Grandmothers would turn their back on her, and she would once again have to claim her name and possibly find another village, one far enough away that they had not heard stories about the Grandmother who overreached and suffered disgrace and exile. But there was opportunity here. As a hunter, she knew the value of rocks that produced metal. If there were such rocks here, the bounty should go to her temple. Crafters of weapons and diggers of rocks would come to Prabrateakil and share their good fortune.
“If you want ore, show us which rocks you want and we will trade them to you without damaging our land.”
“We and we and all the we need rocks fast.” The creature had answered so fast that she got the impression that it was convinced that Rownt were weak or slow. Or perhaps it questioned whether Rownt could learn to use tools. However, in a mere century since the first Rownt had seen a stranger use a projectile weapon, craftsmen had learned to make them in such numbers that they were replacing reialets and tej among those who hunted large prey.
“My people are very strong. We learn easily, and if you wish us to trade rocks, we can trade many rocks. But if we must defend this land, you will get no rocks and we will damage many of your square flying carts.” She kept her voice firm, even though she felt the warmth of battle and fear in her bones.
The creature's reaction was like one who had been so badly injured that it lost control of its limbs. It twitched and writhed. “We and we need ore,” it said.
She dropped her reialet to the dust. “Then let us trade.”
Walking a Larger Border Part Two
She stood on the hill and waited for the Imshee to come out of its ugly ship. Tuk and even ka-ranked traders could deal with the difficult strangers at this point, so she resented being summoned as if she were a youngling being asked to come to the temple. She was a Grandmother, one respected for her ability to negotiate with others. She was far too busy to deal with the trading needs of the strangers. And she questioned the intelligence of trader
s if they could not understand the needs of one stranger.
The Imshee came down the ramp from its strange conveyance, its many limbs moving in that jerky motion that she found so distasteful. She struggled to identify any markings that would make one Imshee recognizable from another, so she suspected they may have equal difficulty recognizing Rownt. To save the stranger the embarrassment of asking for a Grandmother who stood in front of it, she started down the hill to introduce herself.
In the seasons since they had begun to trade with the Imshee, the world had changed at an uncomfortable pace, and she held the blame for that. If she had not insisted on walking the border and understanding these strangers, she would not have opened the door to trade.
When she was halfway down the hill, she called out. “I am the Grandmother you sought.” She reached the bottom of the hill and waited for the stranger to approach her.
It stopped a good distance from her. “We and we greet to Grandmothers,” the Imshee's translation machine offered.
She wasn't sure whether the Imshee were incapable of using singular pronouns or if they wished to send greetings to the temple Grandmothers. With strangers it was difficult to tell. She found she missed the days when all of the creatures with whom one could have a conversation were Rownt. She waited until the Imshee used words which were worth responding to. The traders had suggested that the Imshee wanted something , but they had been annoyingly silent on what that might be.
The stranger tapped the ground with its front claws, reminding her of those formidable weapons. She had never seen an Imshee hunt, but she was old enough to respect the danger of the possibility even without seeing it with her own eyes. “We and we and other we send invitations to you and many yous whom hunting you.”
She widened her eyes. Perhaps the traders had some cause for confusion if this was how the Imshee were communicating. “I do not understand.” That should get the Imshee to state their cryptic request more clearly.