Several hundred days of steady toil brought them to the foothills and the source of the River East. The party camped in a forest of happen-trees—vast gray plates tipped on end and halfway buried in the ruddy ground—and the humans rested, gathering energy for the push to the highest ridge. The next day was slow and taxing, but they conquered a hundred meters more than planned. Two travelers passed them in the end, both riding their porters. One was poet-bird, and with an important singsong voice he said, “Swallow your pride and ride, brothers and sister. Regret is sweeter pain than a hundred splintered bones.”
In their group, nobody rode. The day after was very slow and became slower when Quee Lee took a hard spill, shattering her face and her back. But she refused the Wogfound’s attempts to call her broken and carry her for the rest of the way, and when Perri offered his hand, she laughed and said, “You genuinely don’t know me, do you?”
The day after that proved steady and very productive. No one fell. Not even a small bone was shattered. One of Katabasis’s favorite campsites proved empty and as inviting as always—a glade of rainbow-colored foliage that never looked the same twice. She set down her pack and helped her client pitch his tent, and the Wogfound came over to complain about many matters, many failures, while waiting for the One-after-another to finish her duties.
Quee Lee lay in the open glade, on her back, legs flat. She was sobbing. She was laughing. Tears made the day-old face shine in sun that was as unnatural as it was brilliant—a fierce white glare that encompassed equal portions of the visible spectrum, feeding plants from at least a hundred worlds.
Finished with her chores, Katabasis rested where the ground was dampest, happily doing nothing while her trousers and plumage grew soggy.
Her colleagues marched past. “If we had made that wager,” said the One-after-another, “you would win tomorrow.”
“Or I would lose tomorrow,” said Katabasis.
Jeweled eyes studied the prostrate human. “As you say, she is a beast.”
“Am I the beast?” asked Quee Lee.
“You are,” Katabasis said. “You are going to climb these mountains.”
“I am a great beast, yes,” she said, smiling a little more.
Perri was beneath the little tent, preparing their aerogel bed.
Varid emerged from his shelter and on the third attempt managed to stand, walking slowly across the bright glade. Varid wanted to stare at Quee Lee. This was a recent habit, and no one acted offended or intrigued by the attention. But Katabasis was curious how this evening’s conversation would play out. She didn’t join her colleagues. Instead she studied the diminished human and the lovely beast who kept weeping from pleasure, and she was doing nothing else when a thick layer of scrap rock shifted on the slope behind her. An instant later several million tons of black granite swept across the glade, crushing and burying everything within ten steps of where Katabasis was sitting.
Two porters were gone.
Three survivors called for their companions, searching until well after dark, but nothing answered the pleas, and except for a few binnerlings dancing across the rubble, nothing moved.
Varid didn’t join the search. Walking to where Quee Lee had been, he lay down, filling the imprint of her body and shutting his eyes and opening them again, and out from the blackness he said a few true words.
“Somebody else will dig them up.”
Then, with a well-earned expertise, he added, “It’s amazing what you can survive, and with only a little luck.”
5
Her cadre of Hopefuls were about to graduate. Childhood was finished and her original wedge-chamber was too small for comfort. But the warrior always came past in the morning, licking toes and feet and the lower legs that stuck out into the hallway. It was the same warrior who several years ago told her about humans. The secret had seemed wondrous, overwhelming. Creatures from a distant sun had come to their planet, to Existence, and at least one of them was now walking the face of a neighboring world. But knowledge that grand couldn’t remain special for long. Teachers and every Hopeful and eventually even the old servants in the latrine began discussing the odd beasts that fell from the sky. Some claimed the Five were using radio winds to chat with the humans. These newcomers were few and wouldn’t stay long—gravity was crushing for their weak constitutions—but every story agreed on this: Creatures from nameless places were making pledges of peace and cultural trade as well as long speeches about their glorious, magical nature.
Soon the People inside the stronghold and throughout the world understood that great events were flowing.
And they understood nothing.
One morning the young woman was dreaming, and then she felt the touch and wetness of the tongue. But the warrior wasn’t licking between her toes. She was awake and in the next groggy moment felt the six fingers of a hand tugging at her leg while an excited, angry, and almost incomprehensible voice—her closest friend among the mathematicians—said something about hurrying to the arena. “Come now,” he said. “The Five are meeting with everybody, and everybody is late.”
The girl dressed as she walked. A big, naturally strong creature, she broke into a smooth foot-skimming run in the hallways, convinced that she was in trouble for being tardy but then discovering that no, she was among the first of the invited guests.
The Five appeared together only on ceremonial days. But this was a special occasion, and this was the new Five—the oldest wife had died recently, replaced by a smart young husband with a thousand valuable favors owed to him. The new husband sat as he should, off to the side, his mouth closed. Today’s oldest wife spoke for the group, and for a long while she said nothing except to urge the People to come forward and push close, and once there was no more space under the dome, she demanded that everyone remain silent and attentive.
Thousands of People breathed in sips, making no sound.
“There is a new word in our world,” said the wife. Then with an unnatural growl to the voice, she said, “Human.”
The excitement was felt, but no one spoke or moved.
“Humans are why we have called each other together,” the wife continued. “Star-creatures have crossed a tremendous desert to sit close to our realm. But they are not part of our world, and they have no plans to visit our world, and it is time to admit why: Because we are poor. They ignore the People because we have ordinary resources and unspectacular knowledge. And compared to those sitting on younger mountains, we are few. So they are not here and never will be here, and only the raving fool bolsters herself with bold, impossible talk.”
Honesty was rougher than any tongue. The full-grown Hopeful kept silent and tried to remain still, but she felt herself turning slowly, scanning the tight-packed faces until she found the gathered warriors.
They were made of stronger stone than her. Her warrior never let his gaze wander, and he didn’t flinch as the speech continued.
“We are poor and few,” said the wife, “and even worse, our long prospects are miserable. Our old world is crumbling beneath us. A new world might suddenly burst out of the nearby plains, affording us fresh homes. But mountains are fickle gods, and this is why my family and all of the People have spent generations making ready for a longer exodus. Out on the horizon, perhaps somewhere past dawn, stands a row of young mountains too remote to be settled or too weak to resist our arrival. This has always been our destination, our salvation—a plan aimed at a heartbeat some thousand years in the future.
“But now we have a second destination: The humans. They are powerful beasts wielding tools that scare even our strongest neighbors. To move from star to star and manage that trick so easily—it astonishes our little minds. But humans are creatures of honor and heroism. Appreciating favors and good deeds, their main emissary has made an offer to all worlds and all species of People. Give the humans a worthy gift, and they will grant us passage to a starship. The starship is larger than our entire planet. Give them greater gifts, and they will grant the Peop
le infinite life. Then their Great Ship will carry us to some new planet where empty beautiful worlds stand above deserts that aren’t as ugly or as hot as ours.
“The Five have decided to embark on this bold migration. Today we are offering each of you the opportunity to walk with us across the emptiness. We will travel in the same ways our ancestors strode to these mountains when they were new—by wheel and by foot, one night at a time. And once we reach our benefactors, we shall give them a gift, a great gift—a wondrous, perfect gift worthy of passage on this giant vessel of theirs.”
The speaker paused. From the adjacent hallway came an electric wagon bearing a stout steel box, locked and secured with steel straps.
“An object waits inside,” explained the wife. “My ancestors dug this treasure out of the throat of the volcano that built the land beneath us, and it has belonged to my family since…our grandest, loveliest treasure, worth a million favors from creatures such as these human beasts.”
6
There was no reason for grief. The weight of twenty mountains meant nothing to the modern mind. Two porters were temporarily misplaced, bodiless but safe, bathed in partial comas that let them feel angry about their miserable luck and the loss of income but eternally confident that the landlords or colleagues would eventually come after them with a shovel.
The landslide was no grave, and besides, Katabasis’s colleagues were never true friends.
Why then was she sorrowful?
Humans thought of grief as being something that lived inside them, toxic and massive and often crippling. But Katabasis was not human. She sat on the damp ground, and a bright cloud hung about her face and shoulders. Her companions couldn’t see the sharp blue light pouring into her body and brain. They didn’t realize that anguish brought strength and absolute focus, which was the hallmark of her species: Horrible, withering losses could strike the species, yet the survivors’ instinctive response was to grow lighter and even braver, pushing toward some goal that had never seemed more precious.
“Maybe we should turn around and walk back to City East,” Quee Lee said.
“Back is nearly as far as forward,” said Perri.
“I won’t go back,” Varid said.
“Well, food won’t be a problem now,” Perri said. “We have supplies for six, including two giants.”
“And one good back to carry the wealth,” his wife said.
“I’m going on,” said Varid. He was holding a rigid golden leaf against the torchlight, watching it dry and then smolder and finally burn.
“We might hire new porters, if we push ahead,” Perri said.
“A strong porter carrying a dead client,” his wife agreed. “And we would pay bonuses for the extra work, of course.”
“One pissed-off Wogfound,” Perri said. “That’s all we need.”
The porter recognized the smartest strategy. But Katabasis was larger than her job, and she was older than her job, and she wanted to hold their present course, not involving anyone outside her family.
Whose family?
She caught herself, shaken by her thoughts.
Suddenly the reasons for grief stood in the open. She had a family once, a great embracing family, but they were lost on a distant trail. The porters trapped underground weren’t dead, but they served as triggers for these immortal aches, and these three fragile aliens—the unlikely lords of the galaxy—suddenly meant more to her than anyone else alive.
Katabasis made small sorrowful gestures, fighting to find her voice.
Varid dropped the burning leaf. With a big voice, he said, “Do what you wish, people. But I don’t need a porter.”
Quee Lee opened her mouth and closed it again, waiting.
“I’ll carry my own rations and sleep in the open and don’t worry about me.”
Perri touched his wife’s knee, and she met his stare. With nothing but faces, the ancient couple settled into prolonged conversation. Two rational minds were deciding how to argue with the damaged man. Watching their eyes and mouths, Katabasis remained silent, waiting for the reasonable tone and the most responsible plan. All at once Quee Lee brightened. She smiled and managed to laugh, slowly lifting herself to her knees and hands and then to her feet, shuffling over to Varid, her voice high and light when she said, “My porter is lost, and I don’t know where to turn.”
Varid looked up through the weak smoke.
Quee Lee dropped a hand on his shoulder. “What I want to do, if you’ll let me…I want to hire you as my new porter.”
All the days spent together, and Varid had never shown surprise. Until now he had been a flat, simple creature. But his eyes jumped open. He tried to breathe and failed, and then with a nervous tone asked, “Why me?”
“You’re the strongest back available,” she said simply.
Katabasis looked at Perri. Was this a genuine offer?
Perri replied with the appropriate hand gesture, slicing the air to say, “This is reasonable to me.”
“I don’t know,” said Varid.
Quee Lee said, “Please.”
Then the man smiled, and it wasn’t just a grin that had been practiced during rehabilitation. Varid smiled with his face and entire body, leaning into the hand’s touch, an effusive voice rolling across the glade and the avalanche, saying, “Of course I will. I will be your porter, yes.”
Two days after the disaster, they reached the first summit. Thousands of boots and bare feet had stood on the highest ground, killing all but the flattest and the toughest. Lichen from various worlds painted the stone, and a pair of ragdogs followed closely, ignoring Katabasis to beg for treats from the humans. The four walked slowly from view to view. On each peak, Perri and Quee Lee would discuss the scenery and animals and the rich smells on the breeze and how much farther they might cover before one of them broke another hip. Then some detail or single word would trigger memories in both of them, and suddenly they were talking about events and places buried deep in their shared past, and they laughed and often kissed, and Katabasis was weary of the game.
Varid paid no attention to the show. He was playing the role of porter, and Quee Lee was nothing but his client. For two mornings he had made a show of loading and balancing his tiny pack before claiming that he was ready to carry more. A portion of his rations and a tiny piece of hers were inside the pack, plus his aerogel bed and a few other lightweight essentials. There was extra room, but Katabasis always had the ready excuse not to add grams to a body that would break several times on the best days. She had to be cautious. In the history of this world, there had never been a slower, more fragile porter. Nor could Katabasis remember any colleague who took his work half as seriously.
Tents were a brutal kilogram best left in one of the official trash heaps. Bodies and beds spent the night on the final summit, and when snow fell they gathered inside the same rocky bowl, waking early beneath half a meter of dry fluff. Several valleys radiated down from the final summit. Katabasis selected the most forgiving slope, but that didn’t stop accidents and breaks and extra food ingested to make up for lost heat and chronic repairs. Then the sun changed, growing dim and tiny, and they entered a forest of velvety foliage, the scarce light concentrated by banks of living mirrors.
Three careful days were usually required to cross this region.
Katabasis estimated that five days would be necessary, but the sixth arrived with another two days standing in their way. She hated marching in the dark and never mentioned her feelings. They walked through the gloom, and sometimes one of the humans stumbled, and it was Varid as much as it was the other two. But on the sixth day, while crossing a thin, cold slice of snowmelt, Katabasis allowed her pack to shift out of position, and for the first time in twenty treks, she fell hard enough to shatter a leg.
Quee Lee and Perri returned with regrets and polite offers of help.
“Walk on,” was Katabasis’s advice. “I’ll heal in one moment and catch up in two.”
But the other porter refused to leave.
With grave eyes and a taunting grin, Varid sat on a flat stone, obviously enjoying the circumstances.
“Don’t smile,” she warned.
He heard the words or her sharp tone, and the smile abandoned the face, leaving him as empty as always.
Such a puzzle, the creature was. Wanting any noise for distraction, she said, “Katabasis.” Then she asked, “How did you recognize my name?”
Varid did not react.
“Do you remember your lecture about Greeks?” she asked.
He stared at her hot leg and then at his own hands, nodding slightly. With a quiet voice, he admitted, “I wasn’t sure where the word came from. I used to study history, and languages fascinated me, and I must have learned it there.”
She watched her leg’s fire, saying nothing.
“I have had some recent difficulties,” Varid admitted. “My health, my situation, has not been good. My mind is far from what it used to be.”
“I know this.”
He smiled again, this time with a shy human embarrassment.
Katabasis liked that smile best.
“I do remember the word,” he said. “But there isn’t any simple meaning to ‘Katabasis,’ is there?”
“There isn’t,” she agreed.
“But you chose the name for a reason.”
“No one leaves names to chance.”
“It must have suited you,” he said.
She nodded, ready to explain.
But Varid lifted an arm first. “Give me one chance to guess.”
“Try,” she said.
And he closed his eyes, quietly saying, “Katabasis is the journey from a high place, down and down into the bowels of Hell.”
She stared at him.
Then Varid opened his eyes and looked at her, his broken laugh ringing in the dark air. “Two rarities in the same day,” he said. “You fall down, and I impress you.
“What could be more miraculous?”
7
The girl always woke early, long before the sun set. Bad dreams woke her, and good ones too. The heat woke her. Breathing the thick, toxic, and very dusty air hurt her lungs, and she would roll to her side and cough hard and ache all the worse, unable to fall back to sleep. Sometimes her lover woke her with his coughing and his dreams, and then they would lie in the hot shadow beneath the mirrored tent, talking about critical matters—water rations and food stocks and the distance to be covered tonight and the little hints of terrain visible in the fiery glare of the plains. It was important to plan your night’s walk and then grab an early start. The People were moving in a wide line, shoulder to shoulder as they pushed across the wilderness, and it was best to get ahead of the dust kicked up by all of those feet and wheels. And if there was time after their planning, or if one of them was especially sad, the other would mention the humans and their Great Ship. These were the goals, and everyone needed goals. Not like they needed water, no, but the Great Ship was everything that water and food couldn’t supply. It didn’t represent hope; it was the only hope. Its hallways and giant wedge-rooms offered rest to the weary, and the body and mind would be rejuvenated and then enlarged—relentless long life and profound brains ready to be filled with experience and joy that would endure for thousands and millions of years.
The Best Science Fiction and Fantasy of the Year Volume Seven Page 33