Skeen's Search

by Clayton, Jo;

  It was a hardwind day. The wind blew into her face sharp and cold, teased at her flightskins though she kept these tucked tight about her. It brought her the damp dark smell of the turned earth, the leafy slickness of the grubbers. She heard the encourage-whistles from the handlers and the dull clack of the seeders as they bumped over the rough soil.

  She scratched uncertainly with a stylus at the pad she’d brought with her:

  Dark, damp, secret, the soil—

  Extruded womb—the seed implant—

  Fervid ferment, and

  Forms damp and dark and secret

  What coils within the seed—

  Waiting—

  With a tongue-clicking curse at the impossibility, she thrust the stylus through the loop and returned the pad to her belt pouch. She began and began and began. And finished nothing. Nothing eased the anguish, the wanting that churned in her, nothing exhausted her, not the long walk, not the perilous climb up the rotting ladder into the tower. The Veils very faintly visible at dawn and dusk and throughout the night, brighter then, streaks of fire, they were cords wound round and round her head and sometimes they tightened, until she almost couldn’t bear it. She got to her feet with awkward grace, stood balanced a moment on the upright, then snapped open her flightskins and fell off the tower into the wind.

  Bohalendas put the welder down, passed his hand across his eyes. He leaned back in the chair, eyes closed, dorsal muscles twitching and sore. The power just wouldn’t cross the gap, he couldn’t marry the cells. He lay like that a few minutes, weariness pinning him down as effectively as brads nailing him to the chair.

  He heard a bustling behind him but couldn’t rouse himself.

  “Tata.” A small hand touched his arm.

  Making an effort, closing his hands about the padded curve of the rests, he pulled himself up.

  Lih stood beside him, patting his arm and Lah stood half a step back, holding a tray with determined steadiness. He dredged up a smile.

  Lih pulled up a stool and Lah put the tray down so carefully nothing jarred. Bohalendas smelled the hot spicy bite of the iska and swung the chair around, ignoring its creak though as usual Lih clapped her hands over her flower-petal ears, but grinned as she did it and whistled a much pleasanter version of the grinding rise and fall of the sound. Beautifully true. She showed strong signs that her joychoice would be music and her dutychoice would be something to do with animals. She had no interest or aptitude for submicroscopic herding and plants were things to eat.

  Lah poured the iska into the thickglass drinking bowl, watched jealously by his sister. He was one year older and tended to take advantage of his seniority whenever he could. Unlike Lih, he’d manifested no strong interest for joy or duty and that worried Bohalendas. The time was rapidly approaching when the choice must be made. Lah couldn’t earn his full name or move in adult circles if he refused either choice, nor could he stay among the children. Not for the first time Bohalendas felt a flare of anger at the fate that took Zuistro from him and made her Kinravaly, separating her from her family as irrevocably as death would have done. He thought about calling her, but it was very difficult and what could she know? She’d been gone for years. He didn’t know what to do about his son, a grave quiet boy who made no trouble, but lived behind a mask where Bohalendas could not reach him.

  As Bohalendas sipped at the iska and felt the lethargy that had taken so strong a hold begin to melt at the edges, Lah circled round him to stand at the work bench looking down at the failed transformer. Bohalendas watched Lah poke at the small handcom. “I haven’t found a way to graft the two technologies,” he said. “The power cells that were in it have enormous capacity compared to the ones we use. Yet it doesn’t take more than a whisper of that power to operate that com, at least over short distances.” He nodded at the corn’s twin propped in a chair across the room. “I have to understand how the parts work together,” he said, “before I can think about producing equivalences.” He grunted as Lih, feeling neglected, climbed onto his leg and lay stretched out against his side like she used to do when she was still nursing from the bloodnipples he’d resorbed into his body now that she was weaned. Her soft warmth woke pleasant memories that flushed away some of his weariness and despondency. “Having abundance where we have scarcity or lack,” he said, “they Beyond the Veil made leaps where we still creep; I …” He stopped talking as he saw Lah reach out and touch the eviscerated instrument, finger tracing a printed circuit with an intentness and accuracy that made Bohalendas’ heart ache as he understood what his son’s joychoice would be. It was one he’d have little chance of fulfilling on Rallen. For a moment he was not a Seeker, but a father, cursing the fate that sent the alien Rostico Burn to this Gather, this Gurn. Absently stroking his daughter’s baby down, he began pondering what he could do to find Lah a place where he could earn his welcome while he tinkered with the hard, stern and nearly useless field of heavy metal electronics.

  Ykx like a flight of birds flew over the waste, circling and circling about one of them, trying to touch him. He was singing, spiraling up and up, soaring carelessly, losing the thermal lift and tumbling till his flightskins caught and steadied him. He sang a wild wordless chant at sky and sand and in the last of his erratic tumbles, he broke from his companions. He soared out and away. Abruptly, he burst into flame, wrapped his skins soft about him and plummeted, a burning shred of Veil torn from the sky. As he hit the sand and continued to burn, his companions soared in circles, mourning.

  YEAR FOUR AFTER THE COMING OF ROSTICO BURN.

  Zelzony walked restlessly about the long room, going over her report in her mind, glancing repeatedly at the rekkagourd looped to her wrist by an intricately braided cord.

  The Kinra came in, all six of them, their official harnesses managing to glitter in spite of soft, indirect lighting. They settled into the wide, winged chairs, three on each side of the center chair which was a handspan higher and more elaborately carved. When they were all seated, the silence grew thicker. Zelzony felt unable to keep pacing. The Kinra of Rallen were oppressively solemn when all met together like this, carrying on their shoulders the responsibility for the well-being of all Rallykx and everything else on Rallen.

  Zelzony knew them all very well, it was part of her job, knew their weaknesses and obsessions. She gave them separately the attention she felt they deserved (in two cases, almost none) but met together like this, their flaws vanished, as if they contained within themselves the soul of Rallen. For anyone who came here once or twice in a lifetime, this view of the Kinra meeting was awesome and inspiring; for Zelzony who knew too much about the machinations and maneuverings that won each of those seats, the sight of them all sitting there still woke a response to the meaning of their offices if not to the Kinra themselves.

  The Kinravaly Rallen was chosen by elaborate lot when the former holder of the post died. It was a lifetime appointment and refusal was not allowed. It was ceremonial, but in the proper circumstances could be immensely powerful. Kinravaly Zuistro was still fairly new in her post, only there a handful of years. A middle-aged poet who’d borne her three children already and was not at all maternal. She’d lost one child, stillborn, the last. Perhaps that had something to do with her detachment. She had almost bled to death with her stillborn daughter, a gush of blood as if everything inside her had given way to follow the ejected infant. Perhaps it had. Sometimes Zelzony saw her as a shade walking in the shape of a rather beautiful Ykx (she’d retained her beauty even after her close brush with death). For a shade, she’d done rather well, she’d made several near miraculous pronouncements and had single-handedly settled a trade war to the satisfaction of all sides, something Zelzony would have sworn was impossible. Unfortunately, the trouble Zelzony was bringing to the attention of the Kinra and the Kinravaly was much worse than that conflict (though the trade war had threatened to split Rallen into three factions that would neither speak to nor deal with any of the others). The data Zelzony had gathered suggeste
d that species death was possible rather than unthinkable. Perhaps even imminent.

  Kinravaly Zuistro came quietly in and slid into the center chair. Unlike the Kinra, her harness was old and plain, and she looked a little frowsy as if she’d come from digging in her garden without bothering to shake off the debris clinging to her fur. She glanced around, frowned briefly at Zelzony. “Sit,” she said, her voice husky as if she’d strained it to the edge of mutiny, but that huskiness was curiously effective, made every word she spoke slip under the listener’s skin. Zelzony responded to it always, whatever the circumstances, though she tried to arm herself against it in public places. In spite of her control, she shivered with pleasure when Zuistro leaned forward, fixed quiet ocean-deep eyes on her and said, “What have you found for me, my Zem-trallen?”

  Zelzony lowered herself onto the cool black leather cushions of the witness chair; she slipped the rekka off her wrist and sat with it cupped in her hands, the glass inset turned so she could read it when she looked down. “Two years ago,” she said, her voice quiet and controlled, “you called me to your garden and told me you were uneasy about the health of Rallen. You asked me to travel about, collect impressions, assimilate such statistics as I thought apposite, looking for patterns so you could determine if your uneasiness was justified or not.”

  She gazed down at the rekka without really seeing it, shook herself and lifted her head. “A report of my findings has been sent to each of the Kinra. Since it is thick as my fist, I’ll sketch in brief what is there in exhaustive detail.” She drew in a long breath, let it trickle out; what she had to say was painful to her and would be more so to the Kinra. “You will remember what happened after the six-legs perished, that an epidemic of suicides swept through the Ykx. For several years it was an open question whether we could stop the hemorrhage before we beld to death. It is possible another such wave of suicides is beginning to rise.” Ignoring the exclamations, questions, indignant rejections, she gazed at the wood mosaic floor, rubbed her thumb slowly back and forth along the smooth bumpy surface of the gourd, waiting until the Kinravaly saw fit to silence the Kinra and let her go on.

  When there was quiet again, she lifted her head, looked past them at the polished wood of the wall and returned to her quiet reporting. “Some background first. Around four years ago an alien male came through the Veils of Fire and found us. He was something of a mountebank, certainly a thief and smuggler, though he claimed to be a free-trader. You will understand that what I tell you of this Rostico Burn is largely conjecture. It was difficult to persuade those who had closest contact with him to answer my questions in any detail; there is also the problem of language.” She cleared her throat. “The first Ykx he came across was Fafeyzar of Masliga Gather, a grubber handler on a tekla farm, doing some preplanting plowing. It took me some time and considerable persuasion to find young Fafey and then get him to talk; though we are a social, law-abiding people and pride ourselves on the easy friendly interaction between the classes, it would be foolish to deny there are frictions, especially between workers and managers. Rostico Burn, our enterprising alien, appeared to expect this. Considering his success in evading notice, I’d say he’d more than a little experience in exploiting such conditions. You may or may not know he was able to visit fifteen Gathers in six Gurns before we who have the responsibility for governing Rallen learned of him.” She made an impatient gesture, the impatience directed at herself. “I wander from my course; I meant to speak about what Fafey told me. When Rostico Burn landed, he spoke no Rallyx, of course, nor any language analogous to it, but he was adept at communicating without words. With signs and gestures, he persuaded young Fafey to trust him and take a curious crown upon his head, then he played a silent symphony on an object about the size and shape of an unabridged dictionary which appeared to be a control of sorts, perhaps a compact computer. As Fafey tells it, he felt nothing and nothing seemed to be happening for a longish time. Then he felt a tickling inside his head. That was all. After that, the alien took the crown away, fitted it into slots in the top of the box and reworked the controls. When he was finished, that box spoke to Fafey in the Rallyx a baby might use. The longer he and the box conversed, the more adept the box became. On the third day, Rostico Burn put the box away and after that spoke with Fafey himself. It seems to have been some sort of universal translator, an interesting example of the technology beyond the Veil of Fire. Well. Fafey kept quiet about the alien, hid him in a shed outside Delsay Gather, something Burn and he agreed on, Burn not wanting to attract attention until he felt knowledgeable enough to talk himself out of trouble. This was obviously a tactic he was accustomed to using, which should tell you some more about him. As I said before, he visited fifteen Gathers and six Gurns before his presence became known to anyone in authority.” She turned her head slowly, gazing at each of the Kinra in turn.

  “I have mentioned in the report the names of a number of Gather officials who were especially negligent in their duties, creating severe frictions within the Gather which made it prohibitively difficult for rumors of the alien to reach their ears. It seems they were undisturbed too long in their office, developing bad habits those in authority over them ignored as long as no overt trouble erupted within the Gathers. In some cases these Remmyos acquired their positions by inheriting them from one parent or another, something we would do well to discourage because it leads to the overlooking of unbelievable incompetence. I have noted the Gathers where this practice is prevalent and have suggested that the Kinravaly allow a reasonable amount of time for the condition to be corrected, then go to all Gums with her seccateurs and cut away the dead wood.”

  There were no vocal protests this time, only a variety of expressions and in two cases a lack of expression that was as revealing. Sulleggen and Uratesto from Tanaku Ziga on the far side of the world. Against her now and always. The slackest and most corrupt, their Gurn-sets (Marrallat and Urolol) were in an increasingly desperate ferment which they kept from surfacing by means that made Zelzony sick and angry, counting on their distance from the Reserve to keep all this from the Kinravaly, making sure no reports of disturbances got beyond their borders. For the Kinravaly’s eyes alone Zelzony had taken time to make as thorough a report as she could on their activities and methods along with as true a picture of feeling inside Marrallat and Urolol as she could gather with meager resources and the limited time she was permitted to visit there. Talahusso. He liked comfort, but he’d jump if the Kinravaly said hop. There was considerable laxness and corruption in Oldieppe, but on the whole the Ykx there were content with his management; his Gums were mostly coastal. The interior of Talahu Zigaru was a forbidding desert; it was rich in minerals (there was even an iron mine) but a punishment to live in; trying to tighten up that bunch of hardy individualists might cause more harm than good. Hatenzo. An enigma operating out of some inner harmony whose rules baffled Zelzony. His was the richest collection of Gums and the closest to the Kinravaly’s Reserve. He kept to himself, was seldom seen by any of the Ykx in his care. They were a little afraid of him, but that might be a good thing. The Itekkillykx were a fractious litigious bunch, but the Gurns were the best managed of any on Rallen, high standards of courtesy and competence demanded of all, from the most minor clerks to the High Justicer herself. Itekkill Gurns were heavily populated, with a large number of merchant families. These handled most of the commerce on Rallen. Itekkilli ships and wings went everywhere. The rekkagourd she held was grown and finished there; little food was produced in Itekkill, much of the land was given to the production of the organics that underlay the technology of Rallen. Hatenzo was the only Kinra to meet and speak with Rostico Burn; that he made no attempt to hold the alien or report on the conversation to the Kinravaly was disturbing, but not unexpected. When Zelzony discovered the meeting, she’d questioned Hatenzo about Burn and made little sense of his answers. Perhaps the Kinravaly could if she chose to call him in. Selyays. She was looking interested. She ran Yasyony University in the Galassit Ki
skur with some of the most creative gentechs. The Kinravaly’s once-husband Bohalendas lived there, a man capable of astonishing flights of intuition; Bohalendas also met with Rostico Burn and obtained some alien devices from him. When Zelzony spoke to him, he was charmingly rueful about his failure to report the presence of the alien immediately, confessing that his zeal had got the better of his good sense and duty to his Gurn; he waited until Burn was gone to report his presence to Selyays. Tyomfin. Eggetakk along the western rim of Izakala Ziga, mountainous, fertile with a large variety of ecologic niches. Gathers here were small and insular, producing some of the finest artists and artisans on Rallen. He was visibly worried and had reason to be; Eggetakk extended far to the north and in the icelands he was losing more Eggetakkykx than he was comfortable thinking about. He was a gentle intelligent Ykx, inclined to well-reasoned causes and the promoting of dreams; whatever the Kinravaly decided, he’d throw his energy and abilities into the project. Zelzony swept her eyes across them a last time and went on with her report.