Gaggii relaxed just a little. “Are you Holy People?” Several of them exchanged glances, enjoying the novelty of eyes. One laughed softly.
“We hate the ones you call Holy People. To them we are less than nothing.”
“We exist because of what they have defined,” said another. “Without their definitions we have no existence.” Gaggii nodded to himself. The ants might aspire to utilization of the garbage, but the fleas could never do more than exist in it.
“Why do you take these shapes?”
“In this place these are the shapes that fit,” explained the first speaker, as if restating the unavoidably obvious. “The place within a place,” said another.
“No,” interjected a third, “a place without a place.” Quite unexpectedly they fell to arguing among themselves, emanating loud, disturbing, immature noises.
“This shape is less uncongenial than others,” declared the second speaker. “It was the first shape we encountered in this place.”
“In and out,” chanted another, “in and out.”
“Why assume it now?” Gaggii inquired.
“A shape once assumed is a shape learned. Make us an opening.”
“In time.” Templates, Gaggii mused. So much of this is about templates. These shapes they take are no more than that. Are we no less? What else is my DNA but a template?
“I will tell you what I intend.”
They listened silently to him; some with apparent indifference, others with casual interest, though he suspected that all heard.
“Is it dangerous?” he asked when he’d finished.
“The concept is meaningless. Only existence has meaning.”
“Good. Then you have no reason not to help me. If you refuse, I won’t make an opening for you. This I know you cannot do for yourselves, or you would have done it already instead of sitting and listening to me.”
“We could hurt you,” one insisted in a flat, emotionless voice.
“You cannot hurt me enough to make me do what you want, and if you hurt me too much then I will die and leave you trapped here forever in these forms. If you help me, I will make a good opening for you.”
Again several of them exchanged glances. “You have (old us what you intend. Can you imagine what it involves?”
“I have studied it and have some idea.” Gaggii tried not to seem overly eager. “I suspect I will need to make use of Hasjesh-jin’s fire. Do you still have it?”
All of them laughed then, an eerie yet familiar collective amusement that echoed across the mesa and down into the side canyons.
“You pass on long memories,” one finally declared.
“Then you no longer have it?” Gaggii was crestfallen.
“No,” said another, “but something akin is near here. You are right to say that you will need to make use of it to do what you intend.”
“Can you help me make use of it?”
“Once before we stole it,” announced a member of the semicircle. “Why should we not steal it again?”
“This could be of interest,” said the one next in line. Gaggii looked at it. “You told me only existence has meaning. Why should you care about this?”
“As your words say, we are frivolous. This is a fortunate thing for you.” The first speaker smiled at him, showing many teeth. “We will help you steal Hasjesh-jin’s fire, though this time not from Hasjesh-jin. Be aware that though danger is meaningless to us, it is not to you. This thing you intend could threaten your existence, which is far more transitory than ours.”
“My existence is my concern. You simply exist. I, on the other hand, have purpose. I exist to learn. I believe that knowledge can transform existence.”
“Knowledge is camouflage,” he was told. “It merely disguises what lies beneath.”
“I want what lies beneath,” Gaggii declared flatly.
“As you say, that is your concern.” The first speaker shifted his position on the hard ground. “Ours is an opening.”
“Where will we find Hasjesh-jin’s fire?”
One of them turned and pointed. “That way, not far.”
“By whose standards?” Gaggii gazed through the harlequin twilight toward the far horizon.
“Not far, by your standards.”
Gaggii frowned as he considered what lay in the indicated direction. Then he understood, and was able to smile. “We will lead you,” said the speaker, turning to leave. “No. This is a place we cannot go to all together. I will meet you slightly to the north of it. I will describe the exact spot where we can gather.”
“This is a strange reality,” one of them murmured ;is In-gazed at the dark sky and shadowy mesas. “I will he glad to leave it.”
Gaggii wound cable as he spoke, still careful to keep his spinner close at hand. Around such as these one could never relax vigilance.
“I want to move quickly. I have reasons.” He stowed the last of his equipment and climbed into the motor home. Making sure it was still in all-wheel drive, he flicked on the engine, backed up, and began to edge down the dirt track that cut into the flank of the mesa like a brand on an old horse.
Behind him the coyotes dispersed, each taking a different route but all inclining northwest. There were almost a hundred of them. They were coyote from their wet black noses to the tips of their bushy tails, but they were not of pure coyote lineage. This was not their plane of existence. An ancient template imprisoned them in their present form. They would remain thus until Gaggii made them an opening and allowed them to return to the place where they existed.
They remembered only a little of where they were, but they had correctly sensed the nearest source of Hasjesh-jin’s lire. Playfully they moved toward it, anxious to do whatever was necessary to flee a reality they found unpleasantly constricting.
CHAPTER 17
The detective lumbered into the conference chamber. Ooljee was setting up his spinner while Samantha Grayhills looked on. Moody eyed her thoughtfully. Having little natural aptitude for academia, he was uncomfortable with those who did. Higher education was a tradition which was alien to his family. Everything he’d learned since leaving home he’d acquired through long hours of hard work and arduous study, poring over disks and through mollys, learning through drill what swifter minds seemed to absorb with nary a glance.
None of that, however, qualified one for promotion to the rank of detective. So he’d plowed relentlessly through every manual and text available until he’d mastered enough information to pass the requisite tests through sheer force of will, trying not to watch while college-educated candidates flipped through the questions faster than he could read them.
But Grayhills was different. She was proof one could be academically inclined without being narrow-minded. It helped that she wasn’t a cop. He could discuss weaving with her without having to bring up relevant police technique. Practical applications gave them common ground for conversation.
He was conscious of her greater intellect, but because she was patient and understanding it didn’t bother him. Whenever the conversation grew too technical for him or his partner she would back up, slow down, and explain—without being in the least patronizing. And always there was that radiant smile; the smile of one who understood, the smile of instant sympathy. The smile of someone who didn’t need coffee first thing in the morning.
Ooljee looked up tiredly as his friend approached. “Lisa’ll be back tonight, so I have to play husband again as well as cop.”
“Just so long,” Moody quipped as he shut the security door behind him, “as your kids don’t figure out how to access that web.”
“That is not funny.” Ooljee’s sense of humor had been strained by the disappearance of Yistin Gaggii. Though no one could have foreseen the hatathli’s escape, the sergeant still took it personally. As time passed without word of their quarry’s whereabouts, he had grown irritable and snappish.
The rumors circulating around the station didn’t stop until they ran a demonstration for the depar
tment’s upper echelon and a couple of government specialists. As soon as it was over and the initial shock had begun to fade, everyone was sworn to absolute secrecy under pain of penalties too numerous to mention, and all records pertaining to the discovery were sealed as if they were the lost jewels of King Solomon, before being carted off in a military molly by a team from the National Security Institute. Given the number of people Moody and Ooljee had talked to already, it was probably too late to satisfy Security, but the government representatives insisted on following procedure.
In fact, the only reason they hadn’t used the web right away to locate Gaggii a second time was the reluctance on the part of their superiors to allow them to do so. That was
Security for you. They had been compelled to demonstrate the existence of the web in order to prove its dangerous potential, and now that they’d done so they were forbidden to use it to try and prevent its possible misuse.
The longer the authorities bickered, the more time Gaggii gained to perfect his technique. Ooljee and Moody pointed out that it was vital they find him as quickly as possible, by whatever means necessary. They yelled and screamed, until finally it was allowed that they might be right. Reported sightings of their quarry had all proven false. There was no sign of him anywhere. It was as if he’d dropped off the face of the Earth.
Even if that turned out to be the case, Moody and Ooljee argued, they could still locate him using the web. As more time passed, even the people from Washington began to grow nervous. Permission was finally granted to the two officers to utilize the device they had discovered.
So it was that they found themselves admitted to a quiet, sealed room on the first sublevel of police headquarters. Stores had issued them a brand-new five-by-five zenat, a lull-sized Plessevetti desk spinner, and a request to please try not to overwhelm the entire NDPS molly system in their search for one suspect.
“If we blow this one,” Ooljee muttered as he checked his spinner connections, “we are likely to wipe the database for the entire department.” The wall monitor opposite was three times the size of the one in his kitchen.
“We won’t blow it.” Moody did his best to shore up his partner’s confidence. “We know how to handle it now. We’re damn-well experienced.”
“Are we? Do we know as much about this as we think we do?”
“I hope so. I’d sure hate to know less than we think we
do.”
Ooljee grinned weakly, turned to face the screen, and activated the spinner. He began the chant almost reluctantly.
Moody kept a wary eye on his friend. Samantha Grayhills stood nearby and watched silently. She was trying to divide her time between the zenat and her own spinner as she frenziedly took notes.
On strict orders from the NSI they were alone in the room. It had been hell obtaining the agency’s permission to proceed. Ooljee had convinced them by insisting that if they were not allowed to proceed, Gaggii was sure to find a way to use the web in some unimaginable but highly damaging fashion that was certain to compromise national security. His claim was more speculation than certainty, but like any other government agency, the NSI thrived on speculation. Its worried representatives gave the two officers the go-ahead.
Out of deference to departmental concerns, the room had been smothered in interrupts and fail-safes so that in the event of another program runaway the web could be isolated from the rest of the building. Hopefully. It was one thing to have a precinct station bum, another to watch Reservation HQ go up in flames.
No, there could be no mistakes, Moody knew. He wasn’t worried. Hadn’t they successfully accessed the web several times since that incident? They knew what they were about.
As the strains of the chant echoed around the room, Grayhills beckoned Moody close and whispered in his ear.
“I was just thinking. We might be overlooking a potential problem. If this Gaggii has learned how to manipulate the web, and he knows that you located him before by using it, he might plant something to ensure that it doesn’t happen again.”
“Fine time to bring that up.” Moody joked to cover his unease. “Y’all are assuming he’s learned enough to pretty much do what he wants with it. I don’t buy that. If that was the case, we’d have heard something by now, because he as much as told us that he’s got it in his mind to do something noticeable.”
“You don’t call the conjuring up endless snake noticeable?”
“He did that to deal with a real threat in real time. Maybe he’s learned enough to use the web a little bit, but I don’t think he’s had time enough to learn how to prevent others from doing the same. Until Paul and I dropped in on him, he didn’t even suspect anyone else knew of its existence.”
She considered, still watching Ooljee at work. “I hope you are right.”
Moody straightened, watching his partner carefully. “Well, we’ll know in a couple of minutes, won’t we?”
The access sandpainting appeared on the zenat. Ooljee approached, made the necessary adjustment with his right hand, and stepped back as the image gave way to the coruscating infinity that was the web. Nothing leaped out of it to attack him. Nothing suggested that access was now in any way restricted or forbidden.
Ooljee didn’t hesitate. “Have you recently been accessed by the individual Yistin Gaggii?”
“Yes,” came the prompt reply.
The sergeant glanced with relief at his companions, addressed the zenat again. “Where did this occur?”
“Near the place Shungopavi.”
Samantha Grayhills was puzzled. “That’s on Hopi lands. What’s he doing there?” Seeing the confusion on Moody’s face, she explained, “The Hopi lands sit in the middle of the Navaho territories, like a square hole in a square doughnut.”
Ooljee queried the web anew. “Does he have a destination?”
“He is going to the place Cameron.”
Grayhills’ confusion deepened. “I wonder why Cameron? As I remember it, there is nothing there except a few tourist facilities and a Northern Arizona University science
extension.”
But Moody saw the possibilities immediately. “Mollys!
Webwork. He’s looking to replace the equipment we’ve denied him.”
She sounded dubious. “Not unless he’s easily satisfied. There’s nothing fancy up there. It’s all typical university facilities. Pure research stuff, no heavy-duty analytic equipment. ”
Moody looked disappointed. “Nothing else?”
“Just administrative offices and labs. Mostly geology and high-energy physics. Not my department, really. I saw a short vidpiece on NAU last year. It mentioned the extension.”
“But no intense molly ware?”
“Sorry. Nothing more than they need for local support. Cameron itself is a tiny town, an academic outpost.”
“Maybe that’s not his final destination. ” Moody regarded the compliant zenat. “Maybe he’s just going to be passing through. What else is in the area?”
“There’s the main NAU campus down in Flagstaff. It’s home to the biggest network between L.A. and Albuquerque.”
“Now, that makes sense. We need to alert the security people there, and get the local police to organize a cordon.”
‘‘Maybe we can find out what he is up to.” Ooljee looked back at the screen.
“Do you know what Yistin Gaggii is going to do in Cameron? Is that his final destination or only a stop on his journey to somewhere else?”
“I do not know,” replied the vocomposite, “because he does not know himself.”
“That makes no sense,” said Moody. “Ask it again.” Ooljee complied, the web replied. “I cannot divine purpose.”
“Well, that’s real helpful.”
“Unless one of you can think of a better question, I am going to turn it off,” Ooljee told them.
Moody had no new ideas. He watched while his partner ran through the shutdown procedure, relaxed when Onscreen was once more dominated by the familiar harmless lines of
the Kettrick sandpainting.
The security door was unsealed and a lieutenant stuck his head through the opening. He did not look especially happy. Moody sensed other bodies crowding close behind, trying to see inside.
“Everything okay in here?”
“Everything is fine,” Ooljee assured him.
“The lights and work stations upstairs have been going nuts. What are you working with, anyway?”
“This.” Ooljee picked up his machine. “Department spinner. Mine, as a matter of fact. You can see that.”
“Yeah, I can see that. I just do not want to see the department’s electric bill for the month.” He backed out. As he shut the door behind him, Moody could hear him arguing with unseen people out in the hall.
Ooljee moved to cut the power, paused at Grayhills’ gesture. “Leave it on. It’s pretty, and it’s nice to be able to study it on a big screen. You can see the details better.” The sergeant shrugged, clipped his spinner to his belt.
“I don’t know much about sandpaintings.” She stared at the monitor. “Just what every kid on the Rez grows up hearing, along with whatever other traditional lore your parents decide you should know about.”
“That’s more than me,” Moody reminded her.
“I know more about them than I want to.” Ooljee took a seat with his back to the monitor.
“What’s that part there, left of center?” She pointed at the painting. “The part with all the birds.”
Ooljee gave his partner a look, turned resignedly.
“That is one portion we have been able to identify. Its full name is ‘Scavenger Being Carried Through the Sky hole by Eagles and Hawks Assisted by Snakes with Bird Power. ’ As you can see, it is very complex even for a sandpainting. It comes from the Bead Chant.
“Now over there,” he said, pointing, “you might expect to find something related, but as near as I have been able to determine, that has something to do with the Red Ant Way. Up near the top of the painting is an excerpt from the House of Moving Points. It is as if a painter decided to take bits and pieces of different Ways and slap them all together in one place, linked by devices of his own design, without rhyme or reason. Except that in this case the use of yellow sand is just such a hidden device.”
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