The Tomorrow Log and Dragon Tide

by Sharon Lee

  There was a slight pause. "You done here? 'Cause if I lift straight, without a flight plan and with the local gendarmes peeved, there ain't a bribe big enough to clear Dart's name for landing here again. Ever."

  "I'm done," Gem said quietly, tripping the appropriate toggles. "We're on Pad Sixteen, your starboard. We will provide a diversion. At the first opportunity, lift. We'll be right behind you."

  Another pause, slightly longer than the first. "Got you sighted. Rendezvous?"

  "Three months, on Cheyenne?"

  "Gotcha. Let's get outta here."

  "Diversion starting in sixty seconds. Luck to you, Linzer."

  "Luck to you, son. Out."

  Gem hit the first switch.

  The volley went over the beamrigs. One flare hit the tip of a catapult tower; a second smacked into a cop car.

  The broadcom roared confusion and the screens showed a very gratifying milling about, as the big engines tried to come around to face this new threat.

  Gem hit the second switch.

  The closest beamrig exploded, followed by the second and one of the smaller attackwagons. Radio noise was replaced for an instant by stunned silence as Corbinye threw the engine slide all the way to the top and smacked the lift-warning bell.

  The cop cars and wagon hanging onto Hyacinth's skirts scrambled backward, ship's stats showed readiness to lift—and Gem threw the third switch.

  "Eee-HAH!" yelled Linzer across the beam and in the screen Dart hurtled upward, adding a few shots of her own to the melee as Corbinye yelled at Witness to grab on and sent Hyacinth climbing after, through the puny lightnings that the groundwagons hurled.

  "All RIGHT!" Linzer yelled. "Smooth as taffy candy! Best escape I've ever been—"

  In the screen, Dart blew apart.

  Chapter Forty-One

  He chose darkness, did the young Chief, perhaps the better to meditate upon the faces of his dead. That there were several of these, Witness knew, for Anjemalti had sought out Shlorba's Smiter, as was proper and fitting, and laid his hand upon the leather-bound grip and whispered, "Linzer. Shilban. Edreth." And one more, so faintly said that Witness had to trust to the echo from the walls to aid his ears—"Mother."

  He had borne the Smiter away then, out of the hallway where it had lain while he and Death's Warrior had been about the business of escape. But he did not carry it with him wholly into darkness. Rather, he leaned it athwart the door of the room in which he meditated, as a lesser man might lay his sword across his tent-flap, ensuring privacy.

  Given such duty, the Smiter lay, seemingly quiescent, though Witness, from his watching-post in the dim passway, felt an emanation his secret heart named "amusement."

  The chamber which held the Chief Anjemalti was quiet; the Smiter dozed. Almost, Witness dozed. He caught himself on the edge of sleeping and sternly disciplined his mind, setting about the task of ordering the events of the past day, shaping all into Memory.

  Elsewhere within the star sailing ship were clangs and clatters: Death's Warrior about some task or another, he supposed, and wove her more firmly into the Memory.

  It was surely a most puissant sign, the Witness thought as the Memory spun within him, that event should have cast up, at this time of the Bindalche's shame, such a Chief, assisted by so astonishing a champion. That the Smiter was pleased with these gifts was patent. That it quivered and responded to the young Chief's touch as a maiden to the hands of her lover, was a joy, vindicating the Memories of the oldest Witnesses. Memories that even some of the Telios had whispered were but legend.

  More clankings came from the depths of the star-sailer. Witness smiled, in keeping with his secret heart's amusement. So busy, Death's Warrior. So busy—and a puzzle of herself.

  For it was plain that this Warrior, who claimed in a voice translucent with truth to have died and been reborn, was most vibrantly alive. In the past, so said the old Memories, when a chief had desired service from a champion who had untimely died, the Smiter had partaken of event and reshaped a part of the fabric of time, so that the fallen rose and did the bidding of the chief, and lay down again when duty was done.

  But those, Memory insisted, had been dead. Dead, they had risen, and, dead, had obeyed most dreadful need. The hearts of such did not beat, Memory taught; and the flesh had continued to rot as, blind and breathless, they waded into battle, swords held in nerveless fingers, dealing death, sowing madness.

  In the dimness of the passway, Witness shivered with the old Memories. Shivered and pushed them away, though duty said he should rather hold them close and be instructed. Instead, he replaced the vision of the ancient risen with a picture of Anjemalti's warrior—young and comely, with voice and breath and heart all strong; quick as a flash-strike; silent as a hunter—

  The lights came on in the passage.

  Witness blinked in the sudden glare, and blinked again at Death's Warrior, standing over him, hands on hips and red shirt shining.

  "Is the intensity uncomfortable?" she demanded in abrupt grace.

  Witness glanced about, allowing his eyes time to adjust, then looked back up. "The light is welcome, O Warrior. I thank you for the gift."

  She shrugged. "With three blind crew it's madness to miser power." She pinned him with her great black eyes. "Where is Anjemalti?"

  The Witness used his chin to point, and she pivoted on a heel, frowning at the Smiter that blocked her way.

  "Well . . ." She shrugged once more. "There's food, if you're wanting any, and cabins enough so you needn't sleep in the hall."

  "My thanks for your care," Witness said, for so he perceived that it was. "I am Witness for the Telios."

  "So you do keep reminding one, from time to random time," Corbinye returned, and sighed. "Where do you think it can go? Out the door for a stroll?"

  He considered that carefully. "Within the nature of event," he achieved after a moment within Memory, "all things are possible."

  She snorted and made a wry face. "So it seems, upon reflection. Don't let duty starve you."

  "Warrior," he returned, "I will not."

  He thought that she would go, but she tarried a moment longer, a frown marring the comely face.

  "My name is Corbinye Faztherot," she said, flatly. "I am Worldwalker and Seeker for the Ship Gardenspot. It is my duty to go among Grounders and to deal with them when needful, for the good of the Ship. I speak the trade tongue and Universal, as well as several dialects. I am a pilot and a navigator. I have heard Grounders say that my duties among them earn me the title "assassin.'" She glanced down; fingered the shining red sleeve.

  "Red is the color of the weapons board," she said, and finally did turn and walk away, silent on the metal floor.

  Witness let loose the breath he had been holding, settled himself straighter against the wall, fixed his eyes upon the Smiter and let the information she had given—and a gracious, godly gift it was!—let the information fill him and his secret heart and wash over into Memory entire, illuminating what it might.

  * * *

  After a while, Gem had slept, slipping from half-crazed mourning into fevered dreams where he saw Dart exploding again and again and somewhere in the midst of it Edreth scolding him for lack of forethought—"A thief must be one step ahead of his opponent. Plan! And then follow the plan! Improvisation is for amateurs."

  "I didn't know," he said miserably. "How could I think they would have found Dart?"

  "How could you have thought they would not?" Edreth's voice answered him. "How many times have I told you to court invisibility? How many times have I told you to remain aloof of everyone, to do no favors, to avoid power and the wielders of power! Alone, you are invincible!"

  "But," Gem protested, around the anguish and the dream-sight of Dart exploding, "but you weren't alone, master. You had me. And Linzer . . ."

  "My errors, child," Edreth's voice seemed abruptly weary. "Do yourself service, and don't repeat them."

  "Master—"

  "Anjemalti?" The woman's voi
ce was sweet, low and tentative. A roomgirl? But he never gave such his name; and certainly not that name.

  "Anjemalti," insistent now, and accompanied by a gentle touch to his shoulder. "Cousin, awaken. Your wound wants tending."

  Cousin. He opened his eyes and snarled upright, taking savage satisfaction in the startlement on her face and the slight shrinking back.

  She recovered herself instantly and glared down at him. "You require the attentions of the med unit, which awaits you. You require food, which is available and nutritious."

  "It would seem," he commented nastily, "that I also required sleep."

  "Two hours should be sufficient to the tasks of healing and eating, after which you may sleep until we raise Ship and damned to you!"

  Her anger hurt. He cast about for something conciliatory to say, then tipped his head, the better to hear the echo of Edreth's voice: "Aloof . . ."

  Gem stood, ignoring the protest of the arm, and glared, savoring his height. "Very well. A session with your medical unit would be welcome. Also some food. Of your kindness. But reconcile yourself, Corbinye. I do not go to your Ship."

  She matched him glare for glare, lovely mouth set, eyes blackly cold. "You will go where the pilot takes you," she said flatly, and Gem laughed.

  "I thought I was the Captain Who Must Be Obeyed?"

  "I think you're an overgrown brat," she snapped, turning on her heel. "And an ill-mannered one, at that."

  He grabbed her arm, more harshly than he had intended, and spun her toward him, ducking an instant before her fist would have struck his cheek.

  "Quick," he commented, seeing her exercise control and resentfully bring herself to rest. "But you were not nearly so quick with Qaffir."

  Her pale cheeks flamed. "Taunt me, Anjemalti, do. Childish pranks amuse me."

  "So?" He made one step toward her, checked himself and drew a deep breath, mindful of the arm's throbbing. Reason told him that this was not the course to plot with her, however much Edreth might have counseled the wisdom of aloofness. Gem had turned his back on that advice too many days ago. The consequences proceeding from that choice were now what must be dealt with.

  He bowed, very slightly, and tried to make his face less forbidding. He saw an echoing softness in Corbinye's face, though the eyes stayed wary.

  "What happened of Qaffir, Corbinye?"

  She moved her shoulders. "The one before me—Morela—had been slave to the Qaffir," she said slowly. "When he spoke, the body obeyed him, whether I wished or no." She shrugged again. "Are such things usual, Anjemalti, among those who return from the Blue House?"

  He hesitated, hearing the note of half-sick yearning in her voice, the wish for something that would explain her failure, that would restore her assurance of herself.

  Pity. Edreth would weep with despair, and he saw the hash his 'prentice had made of life, when he'd been left safe, with rules that worked to live by. Pity, and horror. For this he had wrought, to take one of the proudest of the Crew, imprison her in a hated Grounder body, and make her doubtful of her every instinct. Gem licked his lips.

  "I had not heard of the effect," he said. "But the Blue House is not something I studied—in depth."

  "Ah." Just perceptibly, her shoulders sagged, eyes showing infinite distress in the moment before she turned again toward the door. "Let us get you to the med unit, Anjemalti. The arm must pain you."

  Filled with pity, and a revulsion of self, Gem followed.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Anjemalti came slowly from the med unit's maw, pale and gingerly of movement, as if the arm chafed him still. Corbinye felt a surge of pity and turned her face away, lest he see it in her eyes and scorn her.

  He must not, she thought, pouring tea with studied, unshaking precision, he must not be brought to the point of an order. Ships and stars, what shall I do, if he orders me elsewhere, for some Grounder necessity? He is the Captain and I am sworn to his service; to die, if he speaks the word. And yet he must go to the Ship, whether he wills it or no. . ..

  "Cousin," she said, by way of greeting, and put the tea down by his hand. "Sit, do, and tell me what you will have to eat."

  At least he sat, though he did not immediately speak, looking instead deep into the depths of his cup, as if he would read all of his future in the darkling depths. When he did glance up, long minutes later, it was to address Witness, who sat to one side, eyes dreaming on the ugly Trident where it leaned against the wall.

  "Have you an interpretation of the Smiter's will, given the pattern of recent events?"

  Witness blinked his slow, sleeper's blink and focused his red-brown eyes on Anjemalti.

  "I am Witness for the Telios," he said in his eventual way. "Prediction is not mine."

  "Assuredly it is not," said Gem briskly. "But I was under the impression that you were able to match current patterns to remembered patterns and make that information available to those whom the Goddess currently honors."

  "Oh," said Witness and was quiet for a time, so that Corbinye finally despaired of them both, punched high-protein hot rations from the board and thumped a bowl of the resulting gruel in front of each.

  "At least feed the body," she snapped at Anjemalti and thrust a spoon into his hand.

  Witness opened his eyes when she smacked the spoon beside his bowl and locked his gaze with hers. "My thanks, Corbinye Faztherot," he said, and smiled.

  She turned to the board, showing him her back, and took her time about her own selection. "Thank me by eating the damned stuff."

  "Yes," said Witness, still soft-spoken and gracious; then, to Anjemalti: "It was said, even among the Telios, who should have known better, that the Smiter was deep into sleep. Some said that the Smiter would never awaken, that it was, as would be said of men, dead."

  "But," said Gem, "that does not seem to be the case, given the scene in Saxony Belaconto's office and the burst of power that opened the ship's hatch."

  "It is perhaps true that the Smiter had slept," said Witness, picking up his spoon and filling it carefully. "It is perhaps true that it perpetuated a hoax upon event, pretending to sleep while it spun its influence beyond the ken of the Bindalche and even of the Telios, so that the fat man finally came and took it away, to a place where a strong Seeker would come forth."

  Gem spooned up a portion of gruel. "Are the Bindalche so weak?"

  "The Bindalche are confined to the Spangiln, Anjemalti. We bide under the protection of The Combine, which insures our ships do not carry the stardrive. Nor are our people allowed to swear service to citizens of The Combine."

  Corbinye turned from the foodboard, pivoting silently on one heel, eyes on Witness' face. "The Combine?" she said, very softly.

  "Yes, Corbinye Faztherot. Have you knowledge of it?"

  "Knowledge of it?" she repeated, and turned a stricken face to Gem. "Anjemalti, it's a child."

  "More likely full adult." He put the spoonful of gruel in his mouth and wrinkled his nose. "This is not very good, you know, cousin."

  "Compliment my cooking with troopers bearing down from all directions! Anjemalti, did you hear what he said? Interdicted by The Combine! And yet here he sits—do you think they will not have missed him?"

  "An excellent point," Gem conceded and had a sip of tea. "How is it that you came away from Spangiln System, friend, when it is so closely guarded?"

  "I am Witness for the Telios," he said, as, Corbinye thought crossly, they might have known he would; "I go where the Smiter goes, to observe and to remember."

  "Assuredly. So the Smiter hid you from the watchers The Combine had put into place?"

  Witness wrinkled his brow and took a moment or two to stare into the depths of his ration-bowl, perhaps communing with the nutrients there. When he finally did look up, Corbinye thought his face showed rather more animation than it was wont.

  "I do not think that it was necessary for the Smiter to alter event in this instance, Anjemalti. Certainly the Memory reveals no such magic. I think it was rather
that the fat man used his own devices to come as he had gone, invisible and silent to those who watch our borders."

  "That's sensible," Anjemalti said, looking at her and nodding. "Jarge Menlin was a Vornet courier of high repute. He employed the best pilots and the best ships. Running a Combine blockade would have posed no major difficulties."

  "Except if any go looking for him—or for that damned—device! How if—"

  "Warrior, none shall. The Smiter makes its own way, as the officers of The Combine have found in the past, to their sorrow. As for myself, who counts the grains of sand, or the rocks within the riverbed? I am Witness for the Telios, and I follow the path the Smiter forges through event and space and time. None of The Combine knows my face—how could they? And if any seek me by name, why, my name is safely upon Bindal, and so the servants of the Telios will testify."

  She stared at him, lips parted as if she would any instant speak, for several moments. Finally, she turned away and punched buttons on the foodboard, savage in her silence. "If it is not a child, Anjemalti," she said at last, back to them. "It is mad."

  "Possible, but not proven," he returned and ate another spoonful of gruel before pushing the bowl away. He considered the Witness. "The Smiter did not—alter event—while it stayed within Jarge Menlin's keeping?"

  There was another of his longish pauses. Corbinye sat and began to eat, wolfish in her sudden hunger, striving to ignore the terror in her gut. The Combine, by all the gods of space! And there it sat, blank-faced and calm as, as a cow. His name safe at home, forsooth! And Anjemalti no more sensible than—

  "I believe not," Witness said. "There was no manifestation of power as had been Remembered from the past."

  "And these present occurrences?" Anjemalti said. "The display in Belaconto's office; the power that forced the hatch?"

  "These are consistent with memories of the Smiter's past actions in the realm of event," said Witness, and hesitated.

  Anjemalti's eyes sharpened. "There is something else that you may tell us regarding the Smiter's glorious past?"

  "An—oddity—Anjemalti. It—it seems that the Memories which match the Smiter's current mode of entry into event—they are very old. As if the Smiter had been resting, and has now awoken with renewed vigor, as in the times of the greatest Memories. They have almost the flavor of the Memories wherein the Smiter brought the ships of the Bindalche's enemy down from the skies, in the time of the Chief Ral Ean Te."