by Mary Gentle
‘I wish you’d been here,’ I said. ‘When the fleet got to the islands, I wished you were here with me.’
The white-mottled scar tissue pulled back as he smiled, and his eyes veiled. Again, he rested his hand on my arm. Easy to feel that swordfighter’s strength of his.
‘Don’t you think this is a mistake?’ I asked.
‘No, S’aranth, I don’t.’
‘I think … I think it would be well if they could have been arykei: the Blaize Meduenin who was a mercenary assassin, and the Christie who was Christie S’aranth. We’re not who we were then.’
His eyes, level with mine, cleared; and he grinned like a boy. ‘Delay, delay.’ And then with Orthean reasonableness, said, ‘You’ve known since Morvren. Since Kasabaarde.’
Out of all that I could have said, I chose: ‘You know where in this city to find me.’
A bronze skurrai drew up a few yards away, and the driver on the jasin leaned down to hear my directions. Watery sun shone through sea mist that blurred telestre-houses, and made Blaize’s pale mane gleam. Easy to give impulse free rein, to touch that shaggy mane, run hands down the line of jaw and chin and shoulder … I stepped back, out of his grasp, and climbed into the skurrai-jasin; my hands tingling with that movement.
‘Take care,’ I called. And then had to smile at myself: Blaize is a fighter of forty years’ experience, such men are careful. Before the skurrai-jasin had crossed the Square, I looked back to see him conferring with two males who wore the crest of the Crown Guard.
The skurrai-carriage jolted down narrow passageways. The sky between telestre-houses was a ribbon of haze, and damp heat beat back from the pale walls. Through open arches, I saw crowded interior courtyards; and it occurred to me to lean forward and direct the driver to go by way of Guild-Ring, where I could listen to market rumour. A limp exhaustion, together with the heat, made me heavy-eyed. The humidity kept the city’s smells trapped: food and herb-tea and the dung of skurrai and marhaz. And this is where I began my journey, eight years ago; going north into cold Roehmonde, followed all unknown by Su-Bannasen’s assassin … And would she smile to see him T’An Commander? Would Rodion have wished it? Rodion Halfgold, who once asked me, Is he a good arykei? Yes: but that’s not the answer to my own question –
‘Christie!’
I started awake, and signalled the driver to halt. We had passed the Guild-Ring’s market stalls, and now stood outside one of the companion-houses near the docks. A woman in the mask and brown cloak of Kasabaarde crossed the alley.
‘I’ve heard news from the island telestres,’ Ruric Hexenmeister said. ‘Are you going back to the Residence? I’ll tell you on the way there. Is there profit in talking with Nelum Santhil now? – although if there is,’ she interrupted herself, scrambling up into the jasin, ‘it’ll be the first time in my acquaintance with him!’
‘Don’t underestimate Nelum. He’s got Hal with him, remember.’
‘I don’t forget.’
She leaned back into the corner of the jasin as it rocked over the unpaved alley. Ashiren scattered out of the beast’s way. Wisps of sea fog glimmered round the telestre-houses’ flat roofs, and there was a faint moisture clinging to her black cropped mane. The mask was disturbing in its blankness: the lines of her mouth gave nothing away.
As we came out on to the docks, and the smell of dekany-weed and harbour rubbish hit me, she said, ‘There are times when I like to play that I am only Orhlandis.’
The cloak’s hood framed that corded neck and lean shoulders; fell down in folds that hid the knotted empty sleeve of her shirt; and I wanted to comfort her – but she is not Orhlandis – or reach her: but the mask is her protection. Still, I wish I could see those yellow eyes.
‘What’s the telestre news?’
‘That the Hundred Thousand are safe so long as the hiyeks quarrel. Which, they say in the city here, means safe forever.’ Her smile faded. ‘I hear rumours of offworld weapons – not used, you understand, but shown, when the island telestres have sailed out to parley with the Desert Coast ships. So: and we know there are offworld weapons in Rimnith and Keverilde …’
‘It isn’t over until it’s over.’
‘It isn’t over yet. Christie, I’ve seen – I remember – too much. It makes me fearful. Are we really going to get out of it this easily?’
‘There’s Calil’s people yet.’
The skurrai’s pads squished on mud, where fishing boats had spilled their catch that dawn. Wind blew more strongly now, shifting the sea fog. Light danced on the estuary waters. Rashaku-bazur wheeled and cried: that cry that is like metal tearing. All the quayside here was lined with jath and jath-rai, and Ortheans crowded the warehouses and companion-houses and food-booths.
‘I want to talk to Douggie and Cory Mendez about this,’ I said. And then I looked at Ruric: that dark profile, the sharp lines of her alien face. ‘I’m not sure I’m capable of judging a matter when Calil bel-Rioch is involved. Because of Rakviri, because of Maherwa … let’s say, because of what I “remember”. I’d be happier if there was another Company representative here.’
‘Frightened?’
‘Terrified. Ruric, I’ll do it because I have to. It’s just that … do you remember what you said, once? You called offworlders “Witchbreed”.’
The dark face stayed staring ahead. ‘I remember. It was in the Citadel, when I was made exile.’
‘Because of what we are, because we’re human, I think we understand the Golden Witchbreed better than any Orthean can. And you must know that, because you’re Hexenmeister, and you know what I know.’ I gripped the jasin’s rail as we swung away from the harbour, turning up into the alleys of Westhill. ‘Even Nelum Santhil thinks this is a war for land, that it’s because the hiyek-families have lived in poverty and now won’t live that way any more. The Harantish Witchbreed know different. What am I supposed to say, Ruric? That even if Calil loses the support of the hiyek-families, she’s still in Melkathi, and she still has her people with her, and she may – she may have a weapon that brought about the fall of the Golden Empire.’
‘She may, and she may not. She is not the sanest ruler the Harantish ever had,’ the Hexenmeister said, and her lips under the mask curved in a smile.
No, I thought. I can’t judge Calil. I remember the City Over The Inland Sea, and that was a vision in a dry and dusty land; and I remember what I saw at Rakviri telestre, and how those others who saw it are dead, and – all I know is that fear is irrational, and I am irrationally afraid.
Westhill’s telestre-houses passed by, and the skurrai slowed as the hill became steeper. Sunlight gleamed on its shaggy bronze featherpelt, and on the two pairs of cropped and capped horns.
‘And even the hiyeks are not satisfied,’ Ruric said, ‘not yet; that requires negotiation. This is a temporary truce, at best. Christie, I need there to be peace here. All else aside, I need to speak with you of what we said before: if offworld science might, given what I have in the Tower, find out some way to cure this world of devastation – to destroy what Calil calls “ancient light”.’
‘You’ve no guarantee that our species can analyse Golden science.’
The skurrai-jasin drew up outside Westhill-Ahrentine. Through the archway, I saw Doug Clifford in the inner courtyard; he beckoned. As Ruric got down from the carriage, she said, ‘I want to speak with him, and with you – and, if it can be contrived, with Nelum Santhil, and with some of the raiku on the Anzhadi ships.’
I have thought it over, and this is only a lull; I have thought it ended, and this is only the beginning of that.
‘Perhaps the shan’tai Pathrey Shanataru tells the truth,’ the Orthean woman said. She reached up to pull off her mask as we entered Westhill-Ahrentine, and those yellow eyes in that dark face were bright and exhausted and full of dread. ‘Perhaps all that K’Ai Calil and her people have is a memory of ancient light, and a bluff. If we’ve ended the fighting here, that’s good, but perhaps the real war is only beginning.’
>
Towards noon of the same day, I went out to Kumiel and spoke in person with the WEBcasters there. That kept me busy for several hours. I’d barely finished when Cory Mendez came into the communications-dome, and slumped down in a seat beside me.
‘Give me strength!’ she said. ‘Lynne, your idea of a surveillance operation is – extensive, to say the least. Well, we did it. Now I want to know what Security precautions you want from now on, regarding the situation here.’
I leaned forward as Ottoway pushed past behind my chair. There was no sign of Chandra Hainzell. Must mean they’ve been evacuated to the orbiter, I realized. Does that mean the only Company personnel on-world are Security? I guess it does …
‘I want to keep a low profile,’ I said, and then as Ottoway came back and hovered, I glanced up at him. ‘Yes?’
‘There’s a real-time contact, Representative. For you, from Thierry’s World.’
Cory raised a brow; I excused myself, and went to the furthest of the line of holotank comlinks in that temporary dome.
‘Christie here.’
The image in the tank snowed, cleared. Startled, I was about to speak, but I remembered the thirty-second real-time gap in transmissions from Thierry’s World. Plenty of time to recognize that sallow, Pacifican face; the rough blond hair, and the young face now white with illness. David Osaka: the shape of a skull sharply visible in his face.
‘Lynne? Am I through? I insisted on notifying you myself. He wouldn’t listen to me or the medics – Rashid Akida, that is. He said he had to report in person. I’m sorry I’m not making much sense. I’ve been under sedation.’
‘Why is Rashid coming back? Is he fit to travel?’
David stared blankly into the imager: then I saw my words reach him.
‘No. The medics say not. It’s about the research team’s report on Maherwa. He insisted nothing be said on comlink channels.’
‘David, can you tell me anything?’
Again that pause, then:
‘No. I had no clearance for those records. Lynne, I don’t know why he’s certain it’s important. I thought you ought to know he’s on his way.’
Being used to PanOceania, I translated that without difficulty as: Do nothing until you hear what he has to say. And what is it you won’t say on open-channel? I wondered.
‘Okay, I have the message. You – no, hold contact, David, please. I want you to report to Security while you’re on-line.’
In the half-minute before the words reached him, I stood up and called Ottoway over to the holotank.
‘David Osaka on Thierry. You wanted a statement about what he saw in Kel Harantish; if he knows anything about Representative Rachel’s death. Here.’
Calculating when a ship might arrive from Thierry’s World occupied my attention, and so Douggie had to call twice before I saw him walking up the track towards the comlink-dome. The daystarred sky behind him was milky blue, blending with the mossgrass of the island; and the wind brought the scent of humid vegetation.
‘Are you going back to the city?’
I shrugged. ‘Came outside for some air, that’s all. Douggie, to tell the truth, I don’t know what to do.’
‘There may be a valid reason for that,’ he said, absently dusting his sleeve and glancing back at the mainland. Tathcaer was clearly visible: white telestre-houses on the rising slopes. ‘That reason may be that there’s very little any s’aranthi – I beg your pardon, any offworlder – can do at this precise moment. Might I suggest we wait until there is?’
‘There ought to be a neutral arbitrator between the Desert Coast Ortheans and the Hundred Thousand.’
‘I believe,’ he said carefully, ‘that the fenborn Tethmet and the other person from the Tower are quite capable of fulfilling that role. At least, I understand them to have gone to Perniesse some hours ago with that intention.’
Douggie’s care was not for what I might hear, I noted with amusement, but for the comlink officers, who were Cory’s people. A figure of six hours came into my mind: as well as I could judge real-time elapsing during FTL travel, the earliest at which a ship from Thierry’s World could arrive. And that will be about sunset tonight, I thought. Resolutely refusing to speculate. It may be that there’s nothing useful at all in the research team’s report …
‘I intend to put another report through to home office,’ Doug added. ‘Lynne, if the situation stabilizes here, I plan to go to Earth in person – yes, I know what you’re going to say: it takes time. However, if I’m on the spot, and able to use what connections I do have, I think I have a respectable chance of getting Orthe Protected Status.’
‘You’re telling a Company representative?’
Humour lifted the corner of that precise mouth. He clasped his hands behind his back. There was a confidence about him now, that had been missing (I thought) since Ashiel Wellhouse and Sethri’s death.
He said, ‘I’m telling you, Lynne. You’ve seen public opinion on the WEBcasts. I’m going to push from the government side. You’re going to push the Company the same way.’
‘Am I?’ I looked at him. ‘I’ll rephrase that: I am.’
His attention focused on some object behind me, and I turned in time to see the WEBcasters Lutaya and Visconti approaching. I felt a hand on my arm.
‘If I might offer an unsolicited opinion, I suggest that you take a rest before you fall over, Lynne. We’re none of us as young as we were, and speaking for myself, I’m ageing by the minute. I don’t like to see you looking so strained.’
‘I will rest,’ I agreed. ‘I’ve got my own report to make out for home office in Pacifica.’
Six hours. And what else will have happened here by then, I thought. We’re still so finely balanced I’m half afraid to breathe … And why is nothing happening in Melkathi?
Quite irrelevantly, then, as often happens, I thought of both of them: Douggie … and Blaize. I know Douggie. I know there is a great deal of the poseur about him, and that the small frightened person we all keep inside ourselves is, in Doug’s case, not so frightened at all. And what I don’t know I can guess, from common shared backgrounds: country, world, species. What do I really know about the humanoid alien Meduenin?
I know that I feel oddly maternal towards this stocky, scarred man; who has fought thirty years as a mercenary and is in need of no one’s protection. Who said feeling follows understanding? The heart moves and we, rationalizing, follow after. I know that Blaize has all of Douggie’s self-mocking humour and more, and I know that I see myself through his eyes better than I am.
I was preparing to shuttle up to the orbiter and meet Rashid Akida as he arrived, when my wristlink chimed and summoned me out of the F90. As I walked down the ramp to the earth of the makeshift landing field, a darkness blotted out the sky that was pearly with second twilight, and an orbital shuttle sank down with hardly a whisper of noise. I felt the vibration of its grounding through the soles of my feet. It settled on to Kumiel, towering over the smaller craft.
A beam of light broke from it as the port slid up, yellow against the blue twilight. By the time I’d crossed the hundred yards between me and the shuttle, a small figure had left the ramp and was looking round in disorientation.
‘Dr Akida?’ Is it? I wondered. This gaunt Sino-Indian didn’t look like the man I’d seen in Morvren. His coverall hung off him, and there were deep lines in his face. His eyes met mine; I saw him sway.
‘Ms Christie? Are you the representative now? It’s urgent that I talk with you – under Secure conditions, please. I must insist.’
Anywhere on Kumiel, we’re recorded; and anywhere in Tathcaer, we’re spied on. I almost laughed aloud. You forget what you take for granted. Old training came back to me, and I indicated the track leading down to the shore, half-invisible now in the long twilight.
‘We’ll cross to the city, the government Residence; tell me as we go. Can you walk that far?’
‘Of course I … if we could go slowly, Ms Christie, yes I can.’
At last, when he didn’t speak, I said, ‘Molly Rachel left a message, in Kel Harantish, before she died. She said she found it necessary to destroy all Company records of research in Maherwa. Why is that?’
‘To prevent the inhabitants of that settlement somehow hearing of what I’d – what we’d done.’ He stopped, on a small rise, and gazed down the track to the sea. The waters shifted, restless; the air was just on the borderline between warm and cool. He turned his head, and his gaze was direct:
‘Briefly, I and my team established no analysis of the ancient civilization’s science. I couldn’t begin to hypothesize about the basis of it – something so far in advance of our own Paradox Physics that it makes us seem like children. What we did discover is the rate of decay of the area’s canal system.’
‘Decay?’
‘To summarize, while the pump and purification systems have been maintained, to a degree, there have been no actual repairs to the system for, I would estimate, several hundred years. Estimates are difficult, of course. The chiruzeth substance is not at all rewarding to analyse. However, bearing in mind that it is an estimate –’
‘You mean the system’s running down.’ Even as I said it, I didn’t believe it; that is too shocking a thing to be told, on a summer evening and under a clear sky. The Sino-Indian nodded sharply; and began to walk down the path.
‘Molly – the late Representative Rachel needed a good deal of convincing. I wish I had my records, but I assure you: given access to the canal system, the research can be duplicated. She felt it might be dangerous for this to become generally known among the native population.’
‘But I don’t …’ believe it, I thought. I remember how long the Harantish Witchbreed have maintained the canals.