Anneliese heard the hatred behind the girl's words, distrust thinly disguised. Then, she heard a cracking sound. She looked down.
With bloodied hands, Syoney freed the lava stone from the rock, holding it up. The malpais was dull and commonplace, but where the base had snapped, it glowed like fire, feeding upon the light.
Anneliese took a quavering breath. “Now, what?"
"Now, we return to camp."
Syoney wrapped the find in her robe. She spoke to her brother in their native tongue. Pilar jumped as if prodded by a stat-wand, and Anneliese smiled at his antics in spite of herself.
Aloca eyed them belligerently as they approached the campsite. He sat in the light of a crimson-lined crevice, picking at a chunk of rock with the tip of his knife. Behind him, Lirtsban stepped out of the wagon.
Syoney strode toward her employer, accosting him in a demanding tone. The mehtar growled in answer. He reached for the bundle in Syoney's arms and she snatched it away, repeating her words. Lirtsban's face appeared to swell. He raised his hand.
Anneliese felt her stomach drop, but Syoney held her ground, setting her jaw as she stared up at the large man. For a moment, no one moved; then, shaking his head, Lirtsban walked to the back of the wagon and pulled out the jug of water. He produced the dipper with a flourish.
Syoney stepped forward, accepting the ladle; but instead of drinking, she offered it to Pilar. The witless child drank with enthusiasm, humming noisily. He skipped off to the other side of the wagon. The girl held the dipper toward Anneliese.
Anneliese approached warily, keeping one eye on the mehtar. The man reeked of ale. Her hands shook as she lifted the metal cup to her lips.
At last, Syoney drank. Then, she unwrapped the piece of malpais, holding it out for inspection. Even in the dim light, Anneliese could see the change in Lirtsban's expression. He accepted the stone almost reverently.
Without a word, Syoney walked away.
Anneliese rushed to catch up to her. “But what about your credit?"
"Let him think about it for a while,” Syoney said.
The girl crouched at the edge of the fire plains, her face twisting with unspoken emotion. Anneliese looked back at the wagon. Lirtsban wrapped the malpais in a strip of fabric and set it with similar bundles beside the wagon wheel.
Aloca glowered at them. He tossed down the knife, and then buffed his rock with a corner of his robe. From the darkness of the plains, the two brothers walked dejectedly. Empty-handed. Anneliese looked for the return of the silent girl. Then she heard the whine of riven rock, felt a shiver run beneath her feet. Another eruption, she thought, a distance away. She waited for a report of thunder.
Suddenly, a shriek sounded. Anneliese turned to see Lirtsban latch onto Pilar's arm, dragging him toward the wagon.
"Pilar!” Syoney screamed.
Snatching up Aloca's knife, the young girl flew at her brother's assailant. Lirtsban staggered back, releasing the boy's wrist. Pilar disappeared into darkness. A gravely laugh escaped the large man. He parried the blows of the child's knife as if he were a capeador.
Anneliese heard a pinging sound in the rock. Hair rose along the nape of her neck. “Syoney!"
But the girl was incensed, unheeding. The wagon lurched as a crevice widened beneath it. With incredible speed, a rift opened in the rock. Steam belched forth in geysers. Syoney screamed, arms flailing, then her frail form disappeared behind flaming gas.
CHAPTER 16
Mortar Thielman glanced about the Resort's bristling lobby. Hotel patrons lounged and cavorted amid a maze of couches. Their laughter and shrieks superseded the music he knew to be playing. It seemed business had not suffered under the threat of Llaird violence, he thought. On the contrary, people probably waited in line, hoping something else would happen so they could say they were there.
Bored rich folk. Thank God for them. A sneer raised his upper lip.
Heads turned as he approached the front desk. He knew it was more than inquisitive stares at a man with a bodyguard. His face was plastered across the media, the coverage on him rivaling the news of Anneliese's death. Such open acknowledgment made him feel vulnerable and edgy.
Behind the desk, a woman's smile faded as she reached for the panic button beneath the counter. A hotel manager rushed from an adjoining office. He blinked and looked again.
"Mortar Thielman,” the man said. “An unexpected pleasure."
"Hello, Falk. You're looking well. Where's Ahzgott?"
"He died. Suddenly. Most unfortunate."
Mortar raised a brow. “Did he?"
"Mr. Thielman, may I be first to express our deepest regret at the loss of your daughter. I had not occasioned to meet her myself, but I understand she was most lovely."
"Yes. She was."
Flustered, Falk broke eye contact, busying himself at the computer terminal. “If you had called ahead, sir, we would have readied your suites for you."
"Don't trouble yourself. My yacht is in orbit. I merely wish to speak to a few people ... and to tour Twenty-Seven South."
Now why did I say that? Mortar thought. What would I gain by seeing the place where she died?
The manager's face shone with perspiration. “The entire southern wing was damaged in the blast. It shook us to the foundation. However, the construction crews have rigged a series of lifts. We can use one of them."
He led Mortar through his office then down a curving hallway. Conversation was limited—to Mortar's relief. He felt short of both breath and temper, a throwback to his recent illness, and didn't want to advertise his feebleness.
Falk opened a door marked AUTHORIZED ONLY. Heat and noise belched out. The bodyguard stepped through first, his bulk filling the doorway. Mortar waited for his nod, then followed.
He moved into a converted storage hangar. Workmen hustled as if choreographed. One side opened onto a lighted landing field, showing the dark night beyond.
Falk said, “This is Bay One, smallest of our delivery ports. Twenty-Seven South is directly above.” He blew out his breath, dabbing his forehead with the back of his hand. “I don't know how anyone can live in this heat."
Glancing over the room, Mortar noticed that most of the crew were human—very few locals about. “Where are the lifts?” he asked.
"Just outside, this way."
"I prefer to go alone."
Falk's face reddened. “I can't allow that. It isn't safe. The structural damage is extensive."
Stepping closer, Mortar said, “You owe me. You and your exclusive Resort Debauch."
"Yes, but ... I must ask that you remain on the platform. Do not walk about the floor."
"Of course.” Mortar Thielman inclined his head then strode away.
The makeshift lift was crude but sturdy—a steel cage already battered with use. The controls were simple: up, down, stop, and hold. Mortar secured the gate, and then started his slow ascent.
A melancholic cloud settled over him. He couldn't believe he was doing this. What had possessed him? What did he hope to find?
Terrace after terrace, the lift carried him upward. He saw no damage until he reached what he estimated was the twenty-fifth floor: there he noticed missing windows, jagged walls. Work lights shone throughout the demolished wing. Welding torches flared in the shadows.
Mortar held his breath, bracing himself, staring as the destruction rolled past, but he was not prepared for the penthouse suites as the lift finally came to rest.
The entire dome was gone, and starlight lit the site cruelly. Only a few walls were standing, headstones marking the fallen rooms. Twisted stanchions buckled the floor.
"No one could survive this,” Mortar said, then realized that he had hoped all along to find a different scene, expected that, by some miracle, Anneliese had escaped.
The bodyguard opened the gate. Mortar stared blankly, startled for a moment at the biorg's presence, and then stepped down from the platform.
"Wait here,” he said.
He follo
wed a trail of garden flagstones. The floor crunched beneath his feet. Rubble stood in peaks, drifted upon itself as if the winds had attempted to erase the carnage. He noted the angle of the stanchion beams, estimated the origin of the blast. He wished he'd asked in which room Anneliese had stayed.
The place where his daughter drew her last breath.
Then he noticed another platform along the side of the penthouse. In the starlight, he saw a man's silhouette perched upon a broken wall. Mortar felt a rush of indignation, his privacy invaded. But as he moved nearer, he realized that he'd rather not be alone after all.
The man turned, startled at his approach, golden eyes catching the light.
Mortar spoke in the native tongue. “Are you a scavenger?"
The man puffed in offense. He was young, Mortar realized, and wearing a hotel uniform.
"I am Nyrhtak-Ahknid,” the local man said. “I operate the lifts for the Resort. Are you overseer or patron?"
"Neither.” Mortar pulled himself onto the wall beside him. “A lift operator, eh? What are you doing here?"
The young man hesitated, gazing into darkness. “I hear their voices. In my dreams, I hear them. My Akh trembles.” He bowed his head. “I was one of the operators the night of the explosion. The people were screaming, crowding onto the lift. I tried to get them to safety. They were hurt, their faces bleeding."
"You saw them?"
Nyrhtak nodded. “A camera in the capsule. It isn't required, but I always watch those I am entrusted to transport."
"A peeper,” Mortar said in Standard.
The young man tilted his head. “Why are you here?"
"Saying goodbye to a ghost myself, I guess. My daughter died in the blast. Perhaps you saw her: a tiny girl with long white hair?"
"Hair that flowed like a cape?” Nyrhtak leapt down. “Excuse me, sir, but your woman-child was easy to look at: so lovely, so fair. I watched her carefully. But she was not in the penthouse at that time."
"What?"
"I saw this myself. Mr. Ahzgott escorted her from the building just before the bomb exploded."
CHAPTER 17
A blast of heat struck Anneliese as the fissure split their meager camp. She jammed her fingers into her mouth, staring at the plume of flame.
The wagon lurched, another wheel slipping into the crevice. Lirtsban roared. He dove toward the pile of malpais just as it toppled over the edge. The three boys rushed to the back of the wagon, trying to right it, to lift the wheels out of the ditch. The air reverberated with raging thunder.
Anneliese ran. Heartbeat hammered her ears. What was she doing? Syoney needed help!
She crested a rise in the rock, losing her balance and skidding down the other side. Blood oozed from the palms of her hands. In her mind, she saw Syoney's shadow as clearly as if the flames roared before her. She balled her fists into her eyes.
A muffled groan rounded the hills. Anneliese spun, searching the shadows. A pebble rolled toward her. She trembled with alarm. Someone had followed, she thought. They wanted to take her back.
Anneliese scrambled up the next slope. Gasping, she ran across the loose stone. Terror drenched her robe, causing it to cling to her body, obstructing her gait. She chased the darkness before her, away from the lava glow.
Syoney had been a fool to attack Lirtsban, she thought as she ran. She should have let the man have her brother. The boy was an idiot—he wouldn't have understood, anyway.
Then Anneliese remembered waking in the cage, knowing what was about to happen, pleading for help that never came. Pilar was right to expect his sister to watch over him, just as Syoney must have expected help from her.
Anneliese held her arm against the pain in her side. Tears ran, hot, down her face. Images came to mind, etched indelibly into her memory—Syoney writhing in flames, an unspeakable dance, the knife still clenched in her hand.
The girl should have taken her own advice, Anneliese's ire persisted—she should have listened to the sounds in the rock. But in the end, her anger turned upon herself.
What kind of person was she?
Anneliese fell sobbing upon the rocks. The girl was just another barbarous native-born, she told herself. Hundreds were there to take her place. But Anneliese knew she'd never feel that way again.
How could she have run away? She should have pulled the child from the fissure, beat away the flames. But even as the thought formed, she realized no one could have survived such a holocaust.
Syoney was dead.
Anneliese grimaced, looking up at the sky. Behind her, the light of the fire plains rose like an aurora. Drawing her knees to her chin, she buried her hands in her hair ... then became aware of a snuffling sound.
Anneliese froze, wide-eyed. Wrapping her fingers about a fist-sized rock, she tracked the sound. A shadow moved in the dark.
Anneliese gasped. “Pilar?"
The boy dropped to his knees. His voice rose and fell in a singsong manner, as if reciting rhymes.
"Pilar, what are you doing here?” Anneliese asked.
Pilar trembled. His mouth worked aimlessly, a string of drool winding toward his lap. He looked up at Anneliese.
"I saw...” he said and burst into tears.
Anneliese reached hesitantly toward his thin shoulder, running comforting clichés through her mind. She could not ease his grief, could not staunch her own guilt.
Pilar wiped his nose on his arm. “Miss Thielman, have you ever been alone?"
Anneliese wondered how she should answer. She moved a lock of hair from his eyes. He resembled his sister. “Stay close to me,” she said. “I will help you."
Stiff with weariness, she climbed to her feet, offering her hand to the boy; then, keeping her back to the fading red glow, she continued along the hills.
Pilar walked uncooperatively, one moment clinging to Anneliese, the next tugging at her arm. His mood shifted rapidly—he jabbered and grunted, but would not respond to questions. The only word Anneliese recognized was naplaugh.
The slopes lengthened as the ground slowly leveled. Anneliese concentrated upon placing one foot before the other. Her body ached, and her head reeled with thirst. She sucked her blistered lips.
Then a flash of light caught her attention. Lightning bolts skewered the sky. A storm, she thought. For a moment, she only stared.
"Pilar! We're saved!” She laughed, dancing in circles. “Rain! It's raining ahead. Come on! We must hurry."
Holding her aching chest, Anneliese loped across the rock. Lightning streaked the lowering clouds. The scent of dampness laced the air. She could almost feel the rain upon her body, could almost taste the wetness upon her tongue.
"Not far now,” she whispered, breathing sharply, her vision jarring with each step.
But when she reached the phantom storm, there was no water. Dry air leached the moisture away before it could reach the ground.
"No!” she cried, arms outstretched.
Lightning flashed, illuminating a layer of haze: rain, falling in torrents, fading in fingers trailing down.
"This isn't fair!” she railed, fists raised to darkness. She sagged to her knees as if beneath a crushing weight.
"Please,” said Pilar. “What is rain?"
She looked into his earnest face, wanting to shake him. Can't you see it? Can't you smell it? Why torture me any longer. Curling onto her side, Anneliese wept.
* * * *
She awoke to Pilar's face staring down at her. The sky was pink. Anneliese tried to swallow in a dry mouth.
"Are you ill?” Pilar asked.
She realized she lay with her head in his lap. Sitting abruptly, she smoothed her hair. “Of course not,” she stammered, “I was only tired."
"Then why do you sleep in the cool of night?"
Anneliese met the boy's questioning eyes. He could have left, she thought, instead of sitting in the open with her head cradled in his lap. Did he mean to protect her? The thought brought a smile. “That's a good question. You see, I'm not lik
e you...."
"Our mother said we are all human."
Anneliese felt rebuked. “Well, we are. Basically. But because your forebears colonized this planet, you've ... changed. And because I grew up on a different world.... “Her voice trailed, her cheeks reddening.
Pilar regarded her with a penetrating stare.
"Are you hungry?” asked Anneliese, reaching into her sash and pulling out a lump of unrecognizable bread. “I'm starved. I only wish we had some water with our breakfast.” Stop blabbering! she scolded herself.
What must he think of her?
She tore the bread in half. Pilar turned his share over in his hands.
"It's good,” Anneliese coaxed, nibbling at the crust.
Pilar set the bread before him. He jumped up then moved a few steps away, head bowed, hair covering his eyes.
Angry with me, Anneliese thought. Why did she have to say he was the one who had changed? Why hadn't she just agreed they were all human?
Pilar walked in circles, scuffing his feet. Stones overturned with his step. He reached toward a stone that refused to move, wiggling it like a loose tooth.
Addle-brained. Anneliese shook her head. How Syoney must have suffered, taking care of him.
The boy lifted the stone, grunting and sniffing. Solemnly, he held it out to Anneliese. Moss covered the underside. She nodded, smiling. What did he expect her to tell him?
"It's good,” Pilar said, plopping down before her.
Ripping the moss as if peeling a husk, he removed the growth in strips, laying the pieces methodically in a line between them. Green juice ran down his arm, and he tried to lick his elbow.
Anneliese smiled. She lifted a piece of furry moss, taking a large bite. It was bitter, juicier than she'd expected. Moisture sprayed down her throat, throwing her into a coughing fit. She wheezed, eyes watering.
Pilar watched impassively. He alternated bites of moss with bits of bread. Anneliese picked up another strip, sucking the moisture from its end. The bread she had eaten expanded with the liquid, and she felt sated and content.
"You are very clever,” she said. “How did you get to be so smart?"
Pilar continued staring, chewing with his mouth open.
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