The Shattered Sky

by Paul Lucas

  Lerner was quiet for a long time. "Do you miss flying that much, Gossamyr?"

  "More than I would breathing."

  After another dozen heartbeats of silence I heard something tear behind me, then a brief flurry of activity. I turned just in time to see a thin, white triangle of paper float lazily before my eyes, looping through the air before it finally hit the wall, crumpling. I gasped, incredulous at the magic of it.

  "I think..." Lerner said very quietly as he walked over to pick up the paper triangle, "I think I know a way I can truly earn my keep around here."

  SEVEN

  The fact that anyone at all survived the Great Cataclysm is puzzling. The forces that could tear the Eden Sphere apart should have easily extinguished any fragile film of biological life on it. Yet here we are, billions upon billions of survivors spread out among an unknown number of intact Habitat Shards.

  One of the prevailing theories for this is that Sphere had been designed to shatter. Much like the so-called "crumple zones" in some automobiles, the support structure of the Sphere may have been designed to absorb most of the energy from a catastrophic impact by deforming to destruction, thus protecting the Habitats.

  This is further supported by the fact that there seems to be very little evidence of cataclysmic impacts among any of the large Shards in the ensuing millennia, as if there were some mechanism that was in place that quickly herded them all into safe orbits after the Cataclysm.

  And this raises an even more disturbing question: exactly what circumstances were the Builders anticipating that they would need such systems in the first place?

  ---A Case Study In Megastructure Engineering: The Eden Sphere by Onitheri Bell, p.93, Lyra Free Press, published 542

  * * *

  Lerner squirmed, his cheeks bright red. “Look, Gossamyr, it’s just a human custom, okay?”

  “But how do you expect to clean yourself like that?”

  He gathered breath for a lengthy reply, thought better of it, then waded into the stream without a word. “I just will,” he grumped, holding his mini-leggings--“boxers,” he called them—-firmly up in place with his hands.

  The end-of-the-day bathing was a long-standing tradition with our people. It was not only a time when we could scrub away the grime of a hard day’s work but also relax and gossip with each other. It was the one thing my people truly did together as a community outside of Remembrance and Mating ceremonies.

  As always, we separated out into our particular social groups: Mated couples, bachelor males, bachelor females, and elders all haunted their own portion of the stream, with the youngsters often spread out haphazardly wherever their play took them. The younger ones often stayed by their parents, but the ones Brightwind’s age and older formed their own groups, often characterized by their loud and raucous games. Since this was the first time Lerner was bathing with us, I had taken it upon myself to ease him in socially, half-way between the bachelor males and females.

  For reasons that still escaped me, Lerner had been very hesitant about joining in our bathing. We knew from their smell that his tribe bathed as often as we did, that they were not afraid of water like a few of the nomad humans we dealt with. He often bathed at night, with no one else around, and sometimes he would watch us from the banks, typing notes on his magical computer-box.

  Gossip had it that maybe he was deliberately snubbing us, that perhaps he thought he was too good to join us Myotans in the streams. I knew it was nothing of the kind, yet exactly why he was reluctant was still a mystery to me. Whenever I asked him about it he suddenly became very evasive, stuttering his words as the skin on his face turned several shades pinker. And today, when he had finally agreed to join us on the eve of our harvest celebration, he had insisted on wearing those strange leggings. Sometimes, Lerner could still seem very alien.

  Other times, however, his actions were almost Myotan. When he had first described his idea to me to build artificial wings big enough for an adult Myotan to ride, like the paper triangle he repeatedly wafted throughout his quarters, my heart thumped wildly in my chest. A device that would allow an adult to fly? If he could truly create such a wonder, it would be a gift beyond measure. My wing-fingers twitched at the very thought of being able to ride the winds again.

  But he had explained to me that he was not sure if he could build one of these artificial gliders. His people had possessed such devices for centuries, but he was not an expert in machine-making and certainly not in building gliders. When I asked him if we could just ask his people to build them for us--we would probably be willing to trade just about anything for such incredible devices--he rewarded me with such a stricken frown.

  No, he insisted, he would find a way for my people to create the gliders themselves out of local materials. Even if it took many months or years of trial and error. He tried to explain to me that he feared that if we began trading with his people for things like gliders we might end up becoming completely dependent on human technology instead of doing things for ourselves.

  As if we would allow anything like that to ever happen. But he remained adamant.

  Several days later I helped Lerner scout out a place for him to try to build his gliders. We eventually found a broad cliff over the river an eighth-day’s walk from the Tower, with several broad caves at the base of the winding path leading up to the precipice. Lerner was very pleased that an even larger rise blocked it from view from the Tower. He insisted that we keep the project secret from the others, in case it turned out he could not succeed in building a glider. He did not want to get anyone’s hopes up, only to have them dashed by possible failure. If anyone asked, he and I would simply be out collecting flora and fauna samples.

  Of course I had insisted on helping him. I knew much more about the “local materials” than he did, and I was much more familiar with the concepts of flying than he. Besides, after he mentioned the possibility of artificial wings, I would hear of no other option.

  He cautioned that the project could take a long time to complete, if it could be done at all. I did not care. I was willing to wait.

  I handed Lerner a bundle of soap-flowers and began the business of scrubbing myself down. We did not use the flowers often, just on special occasions such as tonight’s apple harvest celebration. Many within view snickered at Lerner’s clumsy efforts, the bachelor males especially. The bachelor females were more sympathetic. Feather and Windsong came over to help put Lerner at ease with some company and innocuous gossip, but their close proximity only seemed to add to his discomfort, especially when Feather demonstrated on herself how to properly lather up with the soap flowers. He gulped loudly and sank deeper into the water as her hands glided up and down her flanks and the sides of her breasts.

  Brightwind picked that moment to swoop in low, skidding along the water feet-first to hit Lerner with a tsunami of a splash. The youngster laughed riotously as he dropped into the water beside us. The human coughed and sputtered, then laughed himself as he suddenly retaliated, his human strength churning up a wave almost equaling Brightwind’s initial assault. A splash fight of epic proportions ensued between them, growing steadily as more youngsters noticed what was happening and rushed to join in. We three females hastily retreated.

  If there was one section of my people that Lerner had readily charmed without reservation, it was the youngsters, Cloud’s little brother Brightwind especially. Lerner was still willing to act much like a youngster himself sometimes, ready to laugh and play on a heartbeat’s notice.

  I laughed myself when the youngsters decided to make it twelve against one and still could not get the upper wing against the human, even when two of them clamped themselves bodily onto his arms in a vain attempt to keep his limbs from moving. Lerner only used them to make bigger splashes.

  Flier met me at the shore as I climbed out of the stream, shaking myself of the excess water. Our chieftain smiled and canted his chin at the human. “It appears our community has a new youngster, one taller than me.”


  I smirked. “I am just glad to see him truly at ease for once.”

  Flier nodded sagely. “And perhaps there is a way you can help put him at ease even further. I notice you have not yet picked a partner for tonight.”

  I sighed. Cloud made such a big deal of us going together to each harvest festival since we were youngsters few of the other bachelor males even bothered to ask me any more. Even with our falling-out the other day, it seemed expected by everyone. “Yes. I just figured I’d end up with Cloud again.” My lips pursed, regarding Lerner as the splashing games between him and the youngsters wound down. “Are you suggesting...?”

  “Why not? He is our honored guest, and he should have someone to help guide him through our Festival customs. And one needs a partner to truly participate in some things...”

  “But...I do not know him that well.” Celebration partners were always meant to be Mates or good friends, or two people who meant to build a stronger bond. I wanted to honor Lerner, yes, but I was not sure I was willing to take such a public step out of our traditions. Cloud was not the only one in the community who thought I followed our human guest around like a puppy.

  Flier shook out his drying fur. “Lerner needs to be made truly welcomed, to have it demonstrated not only to him but to all of our people that he is now a part of us as long as he wishes to stay. A guest welcomed into our home must not be held at wing’s length.” He pursed his lips. “Besides, I do not imagine Cloud will be very pleased if you choose Lerner.”

  I looked sidelong at Flier, then snickered and batted his muscular arm playfully. He knew me very well indeed.

  * * *

  Laughter, music, dancing, feasting, storytelling. Our festivals were all the same, and were also all unique and memorable. This one was even more so, with so unusual a guest attending.

  My choosing Lerner as my partner caused much less of a fuss than I anticipated. Many people expected it, it turned out, as many agreed that Lerner needed special help in learning all the rituals and customs of our celebration. Even Cloud did not do much more than scowl often, but he was going do that anyway.

  Four times a year we held a harvest celebration, to commemorate the arrival of one our orchard crops. They were staggered to come into fruit about a quarter-year apart. Tonight we celebrated our apple harvest. Ninety or so days in the future we would hold another festival for the peaches, then for the cherries, then for the sugar-rock fruit.

  I met our human guest just after dark, near one of several big bonfires near the Tower entrance, as he was conversing with Flier. Our Chieftain, according to his own personal tradition, was already well on his way to being amazingly drunk. His capacity for sugar-rock wine was legendary, and no one could match him for sheer endurance with the drinking urns.

  As it turned out I had very little free time with Lerner as my partner. Everyone wanted him to taste the food they had prepared, or inspect the new rug or hide or tool or artwork they had created since the last festival, or listen to the new music they had created. I also became very preoccupied in teaching him our ritual dances, along with a number of youngsters flanking him. The whole community watched, guffawing as he tripped over himself trying to keep up with the children half his size.

  Even though he himself laughed at his own stumblings, I felt a brief flush of anger at the crowds' reaction. It was not his fault he kept missing cues in the music. A human’s hearing was not a Myotan's, and he literally could not hear a great many of the songs’ subtleties. They should not make fun of him, for something he could not help!

  But I also felt a little sad for my human friend then, forever denied so much of the beautiful sounds of the world.

  Many of us gathered for the ritual First Flights of the youngest of us. There were only two this time around, Yelloweyes and Stormsifter, both four years old. They had actually both been flying for very brief periods for weeks. The Festivals were the times they were officially recognized as having received the Sky Spirits' great gift of flight. They were released from the long tethers their parents used to keep them from wandering off and allowed to fly free, guided and coached by the older children in the sky.

  Afterward, I dragged my partner off to the feasting mats, where a large repast, made or enhanced in some way with our newly-ripened apples, lay waiting. The youngsters surrounded them, eager eyes glistening. A very pregnant Windblossom, Flier's and Windrider's other adopted daughter, had overseen its organization and preparation, as was her custom. She was acknowledged to be the best cook among us. She had drafted a small army to help her, headed by her young Mate Sharpclaw (well, he wasn't that young anymore, but everyone still thought of him that way, after the scandal of him Mating with a much older female five years before) and most of his Hunter friends. But no one complained; helping Windblossom prepare the meal was considered an exhausting but pleasant duty, provided you could pick at the food without Windblossom catching you.

  Windblossom, cruel mistress that she was, made all of us wait until everything on the feasting mats was perfect, adjusting a few bowls of salted meat just so and hissing an evil warning at a youngster who foolishly thought he could sneak a bite ahead of everyone else. Then she straightened, surveyed the mats one last time with a smile of satisfaction, then nodded to us. We pounced on the feast like it would be our only food for a week.

  Afterward, everyone broke up into loose groups of activity; storytelling, singing, music, tradesman talk, play, and so on. Cloud tried several times to corner me for a talk; luckily I managed to dodge, sometimes using Lerner as an excuse to shift away. I breathed a sigh of relief when he finally went to take his turn on sentry duty.

  Only a few heartbeats afterward everyone received a very pleasant surprise. Nightfall, one of my playmates in the sky, called for everyone's attention by the largest bonfire; a necessity in the midst of the night, with his pure-black fur. There, holding Windsong in the crook of his arm, he announced their intention to Mate. Everyone cheered; it had been more than a year since anyone had Mated. As Cloud had observed the day the humans first came, people came of age and Mated in clusters. Nightfall and Windsong were the first of my group to formally announced their betrothal.

  Hardly anyone was stunned by the development, however. It was an ill-kept secret that the two of them had been "experimenting" with each other for almost two years now. I gladly joined the throng of well-wishers congratulating them.

  But truthfully, a dull ache knotted deep in my stomach even as I hugged the happy couple. I admit I was honestly jealous of Windsong. Nightfall was easily the best of the males in our group, though there was never any doubt that he would end up with anyone but her.

  But more than that, I begun to wonder if there would ever be a betrothal day for me. Or if I could ever be as happy with my choice of Mates as the blushing and giggling Windsong appeared to be.

  Windrider stepped forward and began her ritual calling to the Sky Spirit for his blessing over the coming union. She asked him to send a sign, any sign, that would portent the couple's life together.

  Nothing out of the ordinary happened then, but two hours later, just as our celebration was at last dying away and most everyone was straggling away, a box on Lerner's belt jangled noisily. He picked it up, his brows arching high.

  "Another helistat's coming," he announced. "They just came within radio range." He ran to his quarters to get a bigger transceiver.

  Windrider smiled smugly in the stunned silence that followed, and I heard her quietly thank the Sky Spirit for His sign. But what it exactly meant, no one could yet guess.

  EIGHT

  Love is like the fall of night; it obscures the faults of others but lays bare our own.

  --from Myotan oral traditions

  * * *

  "Lerner, I am not so sure about this."

  "Relax, Gossamyr. I've done it plenty of times. It'll go in nice and easy. There might be a little pain or a little blood, but it'll be over before you know it."

  The human healer hovered the nee
dle of her viciously thin dagger, called a "syringe," above my arm. She was on in years, with graying hair and a face that broke into a hundred laugh lines whenever she smiled. She looked as if she should be home at her hearth fire watching her daughter's youngsters take their first wing rather than sit there, wrenching my arm with one hand and while wielding a diabolical instrument with the other. "Relax, honey," she said through her translator box. "There really is nothing to it. The needle's only going to go under your skin a bit into the vein here."

  I would rather she had said she would plunge it into my thigh until it hit bone. Somehow that seemed more endurable.

  Lerner, sitting at my side, shook his head. "I guess she has a ‘thing’ for needles, doctor. My mother’s like that." He lay a hand on my shoulder, a comforting weight. I turned to him, always keeping a wary eye on the human doctor and her weapon. "Come on, Goss," he chided. Lerner was the only one in the community I allowed to call me that, a clipped, lightly-inflected variation of my true name. In the months he had lived among us, he was slowly becoming proficient in the Myotan tongue. He only occasionally used his translator machine any more. "We won’t get any of the other Myotans to do this if you won't. You saw them do it to me. I’m still breathing. See? No gaping wound, nor is my arm about to fall off."

  I gritted my teeth. "Very well. But I will not watch." I shut my eyes tightly.

  "That's the spirit, honey," the human doctor said through her translator-box as I felt a sharp pinch at the crook of my arm. I heard the doctor clatter around with her vials, filling one after another of the tiny containers with my blood as she had Lerner’s. My hands clamped into fists, my wing-fingers pressed close against my palm. I did not want to show the humans, especially Lerner, how scared I was.