Dryland's End

by Felice Picano

  Now Tans’man Park was gliding into view, its fragile, high, alar-aerial structures a series of glittering mobile sculptures in the cross beams of light from below. Few enough of the Arthropods for whom the mobiles were originally intended frequented them these days. Usually, it was Hesperian Hume adolescents who ascended via antigrav backpacks and who could be seen swinging along the treacherous-looking sculptures, their bodies artificially stiff but for their grasping hands and arms, their feet pointed together to give themselves enough thrust to sail over to the next mobile bar. It was a lovely spectacle, She thought, especially now, during Hesperia’s “night,” when the young acrobats could be clearly seen, their Plastro-suits, phosphorescent against the double curtain of billions of stars. Something to boost Her spirits, however minutely, and to remind Her that soon She, too, would be free.

  Wicca Eighth turned away from the view when She heard Her Aide approach. Not Aide of the Day, but Aide singular, because now She was a monarch-in-exile, and might have only a handful of attendants, not an entire court.

  “Well?” She asked, and using the subtle Dubhe IX hand language the young woman knew (and why She had selected her), Wicca asked, “Is it all set? Will there be a Fast?”

  “The Atlantica Boutique is ready for Your fitting, Ma’am,” Her Aide replied aloud. “All other patrons have been cleared out for Your arrival.”

  Her Aide’s hand language confirmed what she said aloud and went on to add that the owner-operator of the expensive boutique – a Delph.-Hume of dubious loyalties and great love of the crystal Beryllium that had been used to bribe her – had prepared everything, exactly as Wicca had explained to her during their earlier appearance that day.

  “What are We waiting for?” Wicca Eighth said, and gave the sweeping view a final look and, She hoped, a final adieu.

  As She expected, Hesperian guards stood at attention at each of the two external and internal lifts when She exited Her suite. One guard comm.ed down, then joined Her and Her Aide when they got into the lift.

  As its name implied, the Atlantica Boutique was a little bit of New Venice located on the twentieth floor of the Inter. Gal. DC building, and rather a lovely place with its built-in tanks and pools and streams, surrounded by plant life indigenous to Procyon’s water world, and filled with smaller piscid and crustacean life. Wicca Eighth had been attracted to it immediately when She had first arrived at Her luxurious captivity and had been given a rapid tour of the building. Not merely the water and swimming life but also the coolness and pastel coloring, so reminiscent of Melisande, such a welcome sight here in hard, glittering Hesperia.

  That first day, She had had Her Aide look into the place, and while there approach the owner and mention that a Very Important Woman might care to become a good customer. Fabrics of various natures and origins had been brought up to Wicca’s suite, and She had purchased almost all of them to further pique the owner’s interest. Finally, She’d declared She must see the boutique for Herself. And had been allowed. While sequestered away in a private show chamber watching various Cyber and Hume mannequins displaying the admittedly exquisite fashions, Wicca Eighth had dropped a hint that although quite important, She was also, alas, unhappily espoused and would like nothing better than to purchase scads of Atlantica Boutique’s wear and make Her escape from her spouse and the building, if possible, using the boutique itself as part of the escape route.

  She had no idea whether the boutique owner knew in truth who She was, or whether all Delph.-Humes were this icily casual, or if the owner simply didn’t care as long as the price was right. But the indifferent owner had assured Her that she’d arranged other, even more unsettling, requests from good customers, and would be glad to be of service. Would She be certain to mention to Her friends where the lovely clothing had come from when once again She found herself more happily settled?

  The plan was simplicity itself. Wicca and Her Aide would go into the boutique’s inner chamber for another show and fitting. Once inside, a holograph made during the earlier visit would be set up and played. Her Aide would come and go past the guards, perhaps even complain about Her capriciousness to them. Should they look in, they would see Wicca – on holo.

  But She would be long gone, out through the dressing rooms, out past the shop’s workrooms, into a corridor that led directly to the main – and much frequented – passage between Atlantica and several other twentieth-floor shops. From there Wicca would go on foot out of the building, across an enclosed conveyance bridge to the shop levels of another building nearby, from there to another building, and finally to a fourth building, where she would obtain an air-car to a private Fast port. There She would find a waiting Fast from the Centaur homeworlds, which Tam Apollon had sent, get in and leave Hesperia forever.

  The Hesperian guard was replaced by two others waiting at the twentieth-floor lift exit. She was pleased to note that one guard had been here earlier and had flirted with Her Aide. That made him far more prone to distraction. She was led into the Atlantica with a minimum of staring; after all, this was an Inter. Gal. Diplomatic Corps building, and such sights as women surrounded by guards must be commonplace; and after all, this was Hesperia, and the first duty of a Cityzen appeared to be to take even the most outrageous sights with barely a shrug if only to prove one’s sophistication.

  Two other guards stepped out of the boutique and reported that it had been cleared of all but the most necessary personnel. She could go in.

  A few minutes later, Wicca had changed her clothing and was now a tourist, hurrying through the Atlantica workrooms and out into a corridor. She had thought the plan over carefully and had reminded Herself that She spoke with a Center Worlds accent. If stopped, She might be discovered through that accent. Making a debit into an asset, She had decided to adopt a full Eudoran costume, which swathed her body, and included the traditional Eudoran “travel veil” of shirred Plastro that hid the lower part of Her face. In this especially Diplomatic area of the City, such “ethnic” outfits shouldn’t be too rare.

  The Atlantica’s owner had helped, providing Her with a wrist-worn Hesperian tourist guide into which had been coded the numbers to call the single air-car Wicca could use to take Her to the one out of 8,000 or so private Fast ports on Hesperia where Tam Apollon awaited.

  She calmed herself, thinking, “I am a Eudoran tourist, prime-spouse of one of the large group of traitorous Center World Councilors who are here on Hesperia for tomorrow’s ceremonies.” That helped, and She easily made Her way out of the narrow corridor and into the more open one. She found Herself moving slowly, a shy window shopper passing by boutique displays, until She had passed the guards in front of the Atlantica Boutique and was headed toward the conveyance bridge.

  The worst of it over for the moment, Wicca alternately relaxed and allowed Herself to hurry. She had traced and retraced Her pathway through these several complex buildings via holo during the day in Her suite, and She was surprised by how well Her memory served Her. But, of course, that was one reason why She was Matriarch, wasn’t it?

  The final building to go through now, and there, as specified, directly ahead was the air-car waiting area. Wicca approached, and using Her wrist tourist pack, She punched in for the appropriate numbers, then tapped them into the call-pad on the wall. Then She waited.

  And waited. She turned to look outside where unselected air-cars floated, awaiting passengers and where other, preselected air-cars approached, collected their passengers, and departed. She punched the numbers again. And again waited.

  It would be absurd if She were stopped now by this final and, it appeared, most crucial step in the plan. She tried to think how to get around it. She might use a public comm. and contact the Delph.-Hume owner of Atlantica and ask her to recheck the numbers. But She discovered that She didn’t really trust the half-breed woman. This was all a foolish mistake. She had been pushed by circumstances beyond Her control into a situation that was ill thought out and poorly planned by a greedy boutique owner, an i
nane Aide, and a Centaur two-thirds of the galaxy away!

  Yet She had to leave Hesperia tonight. She couldn’t possibly be here tomorrow, when the Matriarchal Council met at the Quinx Chamber and formally handed over each of their vocations to a Hesperian or Orion Spur Federation traitor. She couldn’t – wouldn’t – take part in that travesty of a ceremony, which anyone with sense must know was, in effect, the dissolution of the Matriarchy. She couldn’t – wouldn’t – be there as Llega Todd and Mart Kell declared “independence” and the start of the Third Democratic Republic. (The fools even counted that Intervening Systems farce as a “Republic”!) She couldn’t – mustn’t – be present to watch males tread all over females once again!

  And She still waited for that Eve-damned air-car!

  Behind Her She heard noise, laughter. A burning wire of panic ran through Her, and despite Herself, She turned to face whatever it might be.

  Two Hesperian males in full City regalia: the ebony knee boots, then bare legs up to the salacious codpiece. Bare, muscular torsos and arms outlined by the scanty Hesperian shoulder cape clasped with a Beryllium pin. More crystal Beryllium jewelry on their ankles and in their nostrils and curving around in elaborate earrings that rose into combs for their highly stylized hairdos. They might be clones of that Eve-damned Mart Kell, though of course they looked younger, were dark haired and dark eyed, and not as devastatingly attractive.

  The taller and stronger looking of the two had one arm casually over his companion’s shoulder as though he was a gyno. And they were staring at Her and laughing.

  She turned away, back toward the outside. And waited for the air-car.

  “Apologies ...” She heard behind Her and turned.

  The two males. Now She saw another pin on them: the Mechanical Head in City Jet black, which she knew from the Inter. Gal. News meant that these two had been part of the Fleet that had destroyed the Cyber Rebellion.

  “I said, apologies .. . Mother!” he added ironically, a reference to Her obviously being from the Center Worlds and thus Matriarchal. His companion laughed and he had a hard time not joining in as he said, “You look a little lost. Need some help?”

  They had no intention of helping Her, only of harassing Her.

  “No,” She said as demurely as She could, but when Her eyes dropped demurely, they alit on the two lewdly carved codpieces.

  “Here for Independence Day?” the first one asked.

  She nodded and tried to keep Her eyes straight ahead, where however they rested on male nipples – useless things to begin with, made even more grotesque by the insertion of some sort of Plastro rings or hooks.

  “You going to be at the ceremonies, tomorrow ... Mother?” the second one asked, and got a shove in the ribs from the other.

  “No. My prime-spouse,” She replied.

  “Now which spouse is that?” the first one asked. “I always get confused. Is prime the man? Or the woman? Because here in the City, prime is always meat! And meat always means a man to me!” In illustration, he grasped his and his companion’s codpieces.

  She would have liked to kill them. Instead, She turned around, and suffered their laughter.

  Finally Her air-car arrived.

  “What took you so long?” she stormed once the air-car closed and floated away from the building.

  “The call coding had to be corroborated,” the empty air-car answered Her.

  “Corroborated by whom?” She asked, thinking: That half-breed has betrayed Me.

  “The person at the landing spot,” the air-car replied.

  Tam Apollon. That was better! She relaxed and removed Her veil.

  Now that it had made some space between itself and the tall building, the air-car spun half around and quickly moved away, zipping across several girder sections and darting down from the surface of Hesperia into a girder section of the city unknown to Her.

  “I note that you are a tourist,” the air-car said. “Would you care for a recitation of the areas over which we’ll be traveling? I’m equipped for full recitation.”

  The last thing She wanted. “Gratitude, no. I’m quite exhausted.”

  “As you wish.”

  “What I would wish is to know where you’re headed?”

  The air-car provided a small holo-map of the city, with the route outlined. The holo made Hesperia look like a globular fruit, the route almost cutting it in half. Their destination was almost on the other side. It meant nothing to Her.

  “Gratitude!”

  “Feel free to ask any questions,” the air-car said, but it remained silent thereafter, and Wicca found Herself looking outside as it sped along one particularly well-lighted girder, much more built up than the surrounding area. She found Herself thinking, “This is the oddest place, built completely in three dimensions. One crossed it not along its surface, but through its heart.”

  “What is that girder we’re moving along?”

  “That is Op-2L, known as Ophiucus Boulevard. At Connaught Memorial Park it changes to Commerce Sector Six and Power Avenue, which was a major thoroughfare for commerce and government in the era of the great star liners, before Fast travel.”

  “Gratitude,” She said, trying to keep Her voice from showing any emotion. Ophiucus, as in the star systems of the same name – the wealth and power base of the Kells. Mart Kell in particular. And Connaught Park, named after Karyolli Connaught, that early traitor to the Matriarchy who, as much as any woman, helped bring about the downfall of Wicca Second and the Intervening Systems Period. Her enemies surrounded Her everywhere. She’d be happy to get away from here.

  “Connaught Memorial Park,” the air-car reported.

  She could see how below them the brightness of a busy and inhabited boulevard gave way to dimmer parkland and then to a more desolate stretch of buildings. Yet those edifices She could make out at this height and rate of speed were grand, huge affairs, redolent of the glory of the earliest Matriarchies. What a wonderful time that must have been to live in, She thought. And immediately remembered Jat Kell, the starship tycoon, who had almost established a Hesperian stranglehold on pre-Fast interstellar travel. Eve-damned Kells everywhere She looked, even in the past!

  After a few minutes, the air-car rose as though approaching the tallest building in this area of Hesperia, a needlelike structure at the farthest end of the girder holding a lit-up globe. Below was a long line of commercial Fast docks, obviously belonging to some Beryllium multibillionaire. What better place to come to!

  The air-car swung almost to the sphere before it began to drop. And Wicca Eighth truly panicked. “Wait! Stop! Air-car! Stop!”

  The craft leveled off and came to a sudden stop. From here She could see the enormous sign perfectly, spelling out O’KELL UNLIMITED.

  “This is the wrong place,” She said as calmly as She could.

  “One moment while I check,” the air-car said and was maddeningly silent while it just hung there, surrounded by ... Kell!

  “I’ve checked. This is the correct place. Directly to the left, below, is the location where I have been designated to land.”

  She looked out of the left side. A docking area. But ... was that a Centaur Fast on the second pier? It certainly looked like one. She tried to remember whether Mart Kell had returned to Hesperia. No, She didn’t recall anything on the holo-news. There would have been something! After all they were calling him Savior of the Three Species, Hero of Groombridge, all sorts of other tripe.

  The more She looked, the more She was convinced it was Tam Apollon’s own diplomatic Fast docked down there. Hiding in plain sight.

  Yes, he’d be clever and daring enough to do that, the dear! Right here in Mart Kell’s own freighter terminal. They would have a good laugh over that.

  “Apologies,” She said. “You may land.”

  Her suspicions were raised again when the air-car landed not right at the middle dock but at least a hundred meters away, at the terrace that opened onto all of these piers.

  When question
ed, the air-car simply pointed out the lines drawn on the surface, which represented the only locations where a nongovernmental public vehicle might land.

  The air-car opened. “Enjoy your Fast jump,” the machine said and closed after Her. She headed toward the middle pier and heard the whoosh of the air-car lifting up into the star-spangled night, aiming back into the City. Ahead, She saw the Fast’s doors were already open, awaiting Her. There was Tam Apollon, waiting.

  He began toward Her, but She raised a peremptory hand, warning him not to. The closest group of Humes were four males at the next Fast pier, and they seemed deeply concerned over some area of the vehicle’s hull. Even so, She didn’t want anyone to notice a Centaur’s distinctive gait and become in the least bit suspicious. She even managed to keep Her own pace steady as She hurried toward safety, thinking about the plans she and Tam Apollon would make once She was gone from here – plans for regaining the Matriarchy. Dim as those hopes seemed at the moment, She knew it was possible.

  She was at the ramp of the Fast and Tam Apollon was moving down it toward her, a smile on his dear tawny face when something whizzed by Her. She turned back toward its source and thought She saw a dark figure lurking in the shadows of one of the terminal pylons. When She looked forward again, She saw Tam Apollon staggering back, his four legs folding under him as he tried to keep the blood from spurting out of his throat where the bladed Cyber-bola had struck.

  She froze. Who would ...? Why ... hurt ... Tam Apollon?

  Behind Her, She heard a strangled croaking, and She turned to see the dark figure again. This time its gaunt face and bony arm were evident, since its cowl had fallen back so it could hurl a second bola.