Everybody seems to like documentaries about dinosaurs. Or their local equivalent. I’d watched a science show once, from a dinosaur universe, speculating about what might have become of those pesky little mammals in the fossil record—if they hadn’t all been eaten.
Comely curator Lyn Chow collects all of the information that the professorial pokers send back to her, tidies it up a little, and puts it out on display for the edification of the museum-going public. For whatever cause, in a very small number of continua, the dinosaurs went on evolving until they eventually produced (or became) critters that could knap obsidian, build fires, tell dirty jokes, and think about thinking.
Eneri Relda’s assistant Squee-elgia was obviously one of those evolved dinosaurs, although I’m sure she’d never even thought of telling a dirty joke. Of roughly human height, she was covered from head to mid-ankle in red-veined feathery scales (or scaly feathers—in either case, they looked like they’d been injection-molded from some soft, translucent plastic), fading subtly from silvery-gray to lavender.
She possessed two arms, equipped with capable-looking fingers instead of flight feathers, and had extremely large scaly, four-toed feet (two toes in front and two toes in back) that had no doubt once served her distant ancestors as the claws of a predator (or maybe just to perch on the limb of some prehistoric tree) but terminated now in flattened black nails, much like a primate’s, as did her powdery white fingers.
Squee-elgia’s scarlet-crested head was unquestionably that of a sapient being, with shrewd amber eyes—supposedly better than those of human beings, or even my genetically improved oculars—under a dome-shaped skull that afforded more than sufficient volume for a highly capable brain. Her face was as flat as that of any human, with a pair of nostril-holes directly beneath the eyes. A flattened beak—no more than a triangle of black horn, really—scalloped twice along its bottom edge, met a surprisingly mammalian-looking lower lip. As she spoke, I watched for teeth, but wasn’t greatly surprised to see none.
Her tongue, like her beak, was black, and looked as if it would be dry to the touch, not that I had any interest in touching it, mind you.
She said, “The west-central red, as you requested, ma’am.”
The creature spoke in a high, squeaky voice that I had to try very hard not to find annoying. With my doggie ears, it wasn’t particularly easy.
The wine was very nice, though, almost like a sherry, with plum, raisin, and salted cashew undertones. Stealing a nervous glance at Eichra Oren’s sword, Squee-elgia had placed a pair of traditional small ceramic bowls on the low glass table, and one for her mistress, as well. From previous experience, I was aware the little vessels we were using were family heirlooms and had come off the ship in which Eneri Relda’s people had fled. I was drinking from an archaeological artifact fifteen thousand years old, which meant I was an honored guest.
But then, I’d sort of known that.
For a while, we spoke politely of wine and soil and weather on the continent to the south. Some especially hot, dry summers had been good for the grapes. Even Eichra Oren tried a sip or two, and very nobly refrained from lighting a cigar, although I could sense that it was a strain. Then he said, “Mother, I’d like to ask you something, if I may.”
Eneri Relda sat up, readjusting her position. “I suspected that you might be here to a professional purpose. What do you wish to ask, dear?”
He inhaled and began, “You know practically everybody—”
She laughed, which was an enjoyable thing to see as, well as musical to hear. “Which is your not-very-polite way of saying I’m very old.”
He grimaced. I’d seen this kind of ritual between them, too. Eneri Relda was joking with him, although Eichra Oren somehow completely failed to recognize it. I always thought it was a bit unusual for a parent to have a better sense of humor than her child. Maybe it was just something about humans and their mothers. I’d never really known mine.
“—along this coast. I would have finished if you’d permitted me. Please tell me whatever you can about an Elder by the name of Misterthoggosh.”
She blinked. “Why, Misterthoggosh is my neighbor.” She raised an arm gracefully and pointed toward the east. “He lives just down the road, there. You can see where the dry-land portion of his villa is. I’ve been told that the underwater parts are even more palatial and extensive.”
“Then you’re actually acquainted with him?” he asked, a little scandalized. Humans are also funny when they realize their parents have a life of their own. And most of them go slightly insane when confronted with the idea that Mommy and Daddy might still be having sex.
With each other.
She frowned. “This is beginning to feel like an interrogation, dear. Has Misterthoggosh committed some act of initiated force that merits investigation by a p’Nan debt assessor?”
I hated it when she frowned.
“No, Mother,” Eichra Oren shook his head. “But I think he may be about to. There are a lot of really strange rumors going around, and from unusual sources. Some of them even suggest a restoration of the Appropriations.”
I heard myself emit a low, involuntary growl. I can’t really explain why. Without those first Appropriations—however unethical and reprehensible they may have been—I would never have existed. Neither would my boss. And the beautiful Eneri Relda would have been a millennium and a half dead. How’s that old saying go, about an ill wind?
“I see…” She had been gazing off into the distance again, southward, toward the rapidly approaching storm-front. A breeze was beginning to whip the fountain now, spraying us from moment to moment with tiny droplets, little more than an aerosol. Brightly-colored vessels were still visible, hurrying under power now for the shelter of the shore. One or two had left the surface of the water and begun to fly home. It made me wonder how many had been out there to begin with.
Eneri Relda turned to look Eichra Oren squarely in the face. I’d never seen her quite so serious. “Well, there is one thing that I can tell you about Misterthoggosh. You must beware, my son. Better yet, stay away from him completely. He is a very persuasive creature. Dangerously so. Becoming acquainted with him will almost certainly alter the neat, tidy course of your life beyond recognition, and forever.”
He blinked with surprise. “Has it altered yours, Mother?”
“Now you’re just snooping,” she answered. “Before you go—”
Eichra Oren laughed. “Before we go? You’re tossing us out, Mother?”
Not us, just you, I refrained from saying.
“Don’t be silly, Eichra Oren, dear, you’ve always been my favorite child. But—before you go—I have a gift for you. Sit here, let Squee-elgia pour a little more wine, and I’ll be back before you know it.”
She arose from her chaise almost floating, as she did, sometimes, into the house, as if she were made more of spirit than flesh. It was good wine. We both did as she suggested and she was back in under two minutes with a little foil-covered box in her hands. “This would have belonged to your dear father, if he’d only had time to come home for it. Unfortunately, he did not, so he didn’t have it with him the day he chose to go visiting the Elders and encountered a Great White shark.”
Every time Eneri Relda told us the story of the death of Eichra Remarc, it was something different. The last time it had been about a volcano, although I’d always liked the one about the Asteroid Belt best.
Eichra Oren raised his eyebrows. “Shall I open it now?”
“Yes, please do so, by all means. It was originally a gift made to your late father by one of the more technologically-oriented spider clans, in honor of some great favor that he did them. I don’t know what that was. But I have one, myself; it is a great comfort.” Inside the box—which turned out to be silver through and through—on a cushion of woven spidersilk, lay a tiny, brightly-polished silver pistol.
It made me wish I had thumbs all over again.
“This is very nice, Mother, thank you. But I have
other weapons, and this one is so—” He tapered off, too polite to speak the whole truth.
“That’s exactly what your dear father would have said. I know that you have other weapons, Eichra Oren. But all you ever seem to carry is that damned sword. Sometimes it seems to carry you. This is different, believe me. It may be small, but it shoots boluses of plasma no bigger than the head of a sewing pin. It will take out a six-foot section of garden wall—this one, here—two feet thick. I know, because I did it, more or less accidentally in my grief and anger, very shortly after I lost your father. If only he’d had it with him on that dark day…”
I understood that she’d been pregnant at the time, with my boss. I was acquainted with others who’d known the illustrious Eichra Remarc. The adventures that he’d lived through were legendary. Maybe I’d find out someday what had really happened to him—and why the otherwise ultrarational Eneri Relda never told exactly the same story about it twice.
Eichra Oren opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again when she leaned forward in her chair to lay a gentle hand on his suntanned forearm. For all their charms, Antarcticans are not known for being physically demonstrative—another way in which Eneri Relda honored me.
“Promise me, please,” his mother interrupted. “I know you’re not going to heed my warning about meddling in the private affairs of Misterthoggosh, so at least promise you’ll carry this with you at all times.”
And, of course, he promised.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lornis Adubudu
IN THE END, WE TURNED DOWN AN INVITATION TO DINNER.
Eichra Oren loves his mother, but there’s quite a bit of tension—not all of it hostile, by any means—between them. I could sense he didn’t feel like sitting through a meal under circumstances like that.
Eneri Relda seemed relieved, as well, confirming my suspicion that the invitation had been mostly a polite formality. The lady of the house and her dinosauroid servant had been planning to enjoy the same thing that we were going to have for dinner, anyway: bolhabaissa from Renner’s. In fact Squee-elgia was about to leave to pick some up—with stern instructions to leave some for us. We all left through the garage: there was a sight to see out there that I didn’t want to miss.
Squee-elgia threw a silly foot over the seat of her unicycle, and her equally silly leg followed. It was one of those models where you sit inside the big wheel as it whizzes over your head. The machine was painted bright red and had yellow racing stripes along the small reactor housing where it was attached to the frame in front of her knees. There were speed controls and brakes on the handlebars. I gathered that you steered by tilting your body a little, this way and that.
I couldn’t imagine doing it, myself. It certainly wouldn’t have looked any less silly with a little white dog driving it than with a dinosauroid.
Power surged through the idling motor as the garage door went away and she was off, down the drive, up the highway in a streak of red and yellow.
Heading west.
We stood in the doorway of the garage feeling the weather change. As she watched the dinosauroid dwindle in the distance, Eneri Relda said, “I hope you’ll reconsider the advice I gave you with respect to Misterthoggosh.”
He shook his head slowly from side to side. “Ordinarily, I would, Mother, please believe me. But it’s my job, you see? It’s my sworn duty. If the things I’m hearing were even partially true, and I were to ignore them and look the other way, millions of people in thousands of universes could wind up regretting it—not just you and me and Sam.”
I wanted to say, Leave me out of it, but unfortunately, he was right. Most of us were better off because of the first Appropriations, but many were not, and a second round of them could turn civilization inside-out.
Eneri Relda nodded, conceding. They were very much alike inside, when you came down to it, and it was no easier for her than it was for him. “Then what do you plan to do now, if you don’t mind a mother asking?”
He laughed. “Well, all joking aside, I believe I am going to go see Lyn Chow and try to find out if she’s hearing the same things I am.”
Outside, a trim little sportsveek pulled up at the curb.
Eneri Relda brightened, and suddenly the garage seemed warmer. “That’s a good idea, son. Perhaps you should take her to dinner, as well.”
“Yeah, Boss,” I said. “Perhaps we should.”
If glares could cut like swords, I’d have been two dogs then and there.
We said our goodbyes—Eneri Relda accepted a peck on the cheek from her son, stooped to give me a crushing hug—and started for the veek.
“Eichra Oren!”
The pretty girl waiting for us as we left Eneri Relda’s house was no stranger. She wasn’t any less strange, for that matter, than the last time we’d seen her. Running from a sporty veek she’d left idling at the curb, she didn’t hesitate, throwing both arms around the boss’s neck.
“Eichra Oren!”
The storm clouds were closing in now; it was starting to get cold. Bad weather like this wasn’t rare here, but I would never get used to it.
“Eichra Oren!” She somehow cooed and hollered at the same time. Her voice was nice, though, not shrill. “I knew I’d find you here! You’re a very good man, visiting your poor old mother this way, every Seventhday.”
Try as I might, I couldn’t see Eneri Relda as anybody’s poor old mother. She looked even younger than Lornis. Maybe it had been meant as a joke. It was extremely hard to tell, sometimes, with people like her.
Untangling himself from the female’s ardent embrace—with considerable difficulty; Lornis was surprisingly strong for a pretty girl—Eichra Oren took a step backward from her and tossed me a private thought, via implant: “Sam, I’ve got to start varying my routine.”
I just sent him back a grin.
Aloud, he said to the girl, “Uh, hullo, Lornis. How have you been?”
For my part, I couldn’t understand why Eichra Oren found her so resistible. In my boss’ place, I would have been delighted by her attentions. Lornis Adubudu may have had the silliest surname I ever heard, but that was her ancestors’ fault. Admittedly, she had taken it back after her recent, rather unpleasant, and not entirely bloodless divorce.
She was tall, slender, gorgeous, with the brilliantly exotic amber eyes that were characteristic of her people. Her skin was smooth—a light Inland Sea brown in color—and her hair was reddish and fairly short. Her nose was straight, tilted up just the slightest bit, and her cheekbones were high and prominent. She had full, moist, inviting lips.
This afternoon, she had chosen to wear a boy’s lightweight, simple, white cotton tunic, open at the throat, and ending at about mid-thigh, which did absolutely nothing to conceal her other fine qualities.
Her many other fine qualities.
She was, however, not quite human.
“How have I been?” Her pretty face took on a pouting expression, one hundred percent counterfeit, but nevertheless appealing. “I’ve been utterly, devastatingly lonely since you closed my case, as you know perfectly well. You promised you’d call me.” As she indicated, she was one of Eichra Oren’s former clients, a recent one, whose case had culminated in the death, at Eichra Oren’s hands, of an abusive spouse.
I’d say chalk up another kill for the Sword of the Assessor, but he’d had that struck from his hand fairly early in the fight, and had had to resort to what is dreaded in some realities as the “Forbidden Art”.
The wind had kicked up considerably, as the storm front began to move in on us, bringing with it the odor of salt air and ozone. It did some extremely interesting things to the hem of Lornis’ short tunic, but, focused as she was on Eichra Oren, she ignored it and let it happen.
Struggling for patience with less success every minute, the boss shook his head. “Not quite, Lornis. I said I’d send you my bill, which I did.”
“And I paid it promptly, did I not?” Her late husband’s demise, while unquestionably and irreproac
hably acceptable in the moral sense—and highly necessary, as it had turned out—had left Lornis extremely well off. The sporty veek hovering over by the curb represented more wealth than I’d earn in an ordinary lifetime. I watched admiringly as it raised its canopy in response to the coming storm. Inside, I saw Lornis’ symbiote, Mio, an old world Talapoin monkey. “Which leaves us ethically free to fraternize, if you get my meaning.”
“I got it the first several times, Lornis.” Eichra Oren shook his head wearily, as if having been declared desirable by an unusually attractive member of the opposite sex were some kind of a burden. I confess freely that I was more than a little jealous and it made me mad. I was sort of enjoying his discomfort. I’d a lot rather have been human than canine at this particular moment. “I thought I explained to you…”
Lornis put her hands up, palms out. Her nails were almond-shaped and painted the same color as her hair. She’d been shaking her head in denial as he’d begun the sentence. “Oh, you were just being gallant—and thoroughly professional. No taking unfair advantage of a client. No taking unfair advantage of a grieving widow. I understand, believe me.”
As I recalled, the girl’s grieving had lasted for about fourteen seconds.
But Eichra Oren was trying to make his own argument. “Apparently you don’t understand. Lornis. Look: we aren’t even members of the same species.”
There it was. He’d finally said it.
The sky had now gone completely gray, and a little spattering of raindrops had begun to fall all around us. One of them hit me on the nose.
It was all too regrettably true. Eichra Oren belonged to a species that refers to itself as Homo sapiens—“Thinking Man”. It calls Lornis’ species, which had arisen in another branch of probability altogether, Homo gracilis, which might be translated as “Graceful Man”.
Or Woman, in this instance.
The appellation was both technically accurate and socially polite. Thrown together haphazardly by the Elders, many thousands of years ago, most Appropriated Persons worked hard to live together side by side, and tried to anticipate inadvertent slights before they happened—without going all squishy over it, of course. Such a thing was only possible, I believed, because there are no politics to speak of in the Elders’ universe, just p’Na, and the Elders’ concept of the Forge of Adversity. It’s a long story.
Blade of p’Na Page 4