Rift in the Sky

by Julie E. Czerneda

  More tables and chairs, most in use, filled the shadowy edges. The exception was a long curved counter that jutted out from one wall, its outer surface reflecting the legs and feet of those who sat on stools beside it. This turned out to be their destination. The giant creature used one of its smaller, more flexible upper claws to lift part of the counter, then snapped a lower impatiently when they hesitated to go through. “Inside.”

  Aryl obeyed, Enris behind her. The creature barely fit. It dropped the counter back in place with a bang: a signal to someone, for the loud drumming and singing resumed, and those who’d been watching turned away as if disappointed.

  Explain to me again why we’re not leaving.

  We need help.

  This is help?

  She didn’t know why she believed it, only that she did. The other scouts still hadn’t reported success; Imi’s group had retreated to the Buried Theater, after being chased by some kind of authority. Or a cook. The sending had been confused.

  It’s a Carasian. We can trust it.

  The floor directly behind the counter was at the same level as the larger room. Three of the multi-armed beings stood there, busy wiping, filling drink containers, or taking away empty ones. They ignored the new arrivals.

  The inner portion sank to form a ramp leading down to the back wall. A wall, Aryl saw with interest, covered with weapons displayed behind metal grids. She walked over to it, impressed. “Are these yours?”

  Several eyes bent to look at her. “Their owners left them with me.” Its voice was a deep rumble. “I suggest you do the same.”

  A hand slapped the counter before she had to answer. “Gurdo! Whaddabout our refund!?”

  The tone wasn’t one she’d use, given one of “Gurdo’s” claws would span the Human’s ample torso. But its reply was mild. “You’ll have to take that up with Louli. I can call her for you.”

  The florid-faced Human lost all color. “No,” he said quickly. “That’s not necessary. ’S was only a little bet. Some fun. That’s all.”

  “Generous of you. Yirs? Beer for this fine Grandie. On the house.”

  Once the Human was mollified, Gurdo tipped its big head back to Aryl. “Ordinary knives—no one cares. But any constable will seize that,” a gesture to the longknife still out in her hand, “and throw you in jail for the privilege, first chance they get. Which will be when you leave the ’Dive. You see, locals call this Tax Free Layer, but that’s only because few here can afford to pay them, not that we don’t get interfered with by the powers above. There’s always a couple here. Yirs?”

  One of the servers spoke without turning around. “End of the stage, as usual. Waiting for Brocheuse.”

  Aryl tightened her hand on the hilt. “They can try.”

  Enris coughed. Leaving?

  “I do enjoy your grist!” The Carasian made a sound like rain on metal. Amusement, she guessed. Having bellowed them out of the pit, it had become a jovial host, its rage apparently a show for the disappointed spectators. Now it opened one of the metal grids and selected a disappointingly plain, stubby cylinder. “Try this. Force blade,” it told her. “Has a number of advantages. Hides. Intimidates,” it announced as it pressed the fine tip of a claw into a depression, producing a thin glowing line that extended from the cylinder about the length of Aryl’s arm, a line that hissed as it moved through the air. “With no inconvenient residue to worry about, if you get my meaning.” It pulled a piece of white cloth from a stack behind the counter, tossing it into the air so it passed through the glowing line. Two halves fluttered to the floor. The Carasian turned it off. “Give me your pretty pox-sticker. I’ll let you have this for twenty rimmies.”

  “A trade,” Enris nodded.

  “A fair one,” as if her Chosen had protested. “Either way, you can’t take that with you.”

  She certainly could, but Aryl didn’t see the value in arguing. What she did see was the value in what it offered. “We’ll need more of those,” she said firmly. “Many more.”

  The eyestalks went in several directions at once. “I’m no dealer, friend. Just a bartender keeping the peace.” With a little more volume than required, as if speaking for other ears.

  Enris leaned forward, eyes aglow with interest, but not in the remarkable weapon. “What are ‘rimmies’?”

  “More force blades and a place for our people to live,” Aryl interjected before Gurdo could answer. “A safe place.”

  Let me do this. “We’re offworlders,” Enris explained smoothly. “Arrived today. We could use some guidance.”

  It wasn’t a lie.

  Leaving most of its eyes on Aryl, the Carasian spared a few for her Chosen. Who looked, she thought, remarkably smug.

  “You talk like Grandies,” Gurdo observed after a moment. “Look like you can’t afford a beer. Guidance is expensive. Especially the good kind.”

  Enris smiled. “Oh, I wouldn’t judge us by appearance.”

  What was he doing? Aryl kept her mouth closed and shields tight. Her hair, however, writhed up and over her shoulders, reaching for her Chosen. Who lifted a finger to let a tendril wind itself around like a ring.

  She did her best to smile and not grab it back.

  “Amazing grist,” the Carasian muttered. It shifted on its rounded feet, producing a muted clank, then came to a decision. “Can’t talk here. Come with me. No promises, though.”

  A tap on a panel opened a door in the wall, splitting the weapon display into sections. The air wafting through was warm and damp. “But first.” An upper claw opened and waited.

  Impossible to read a face composed of what looked like polished metal bowls separated by a dark gap filled with restless stalked eyes.

  Aryl.

  She frowned, but gave the Carasian her longknife. Leaving her hand extended.

  All eyes came to rest on her. Aryl didn’t budge.

  “Call it a sample,” Gurdo grumbled, dropping the force blade in her palm. “Do not,” with emphasis “use it here.” Her longknife went on the wall, the grid replaced over it.

  Aryl tucked the cylinder in a pocket, satisfied.

  “This way.”

  It wasn’t, she discovered, an ordinary door. No sooner had Aryl stepped through than sprays of bitter water struck her from all sides. Sputtering, she hurried forward to get away from them, Enris doing the same.

  The Carasian followed more slowly. While it appeared to enjoy the spray, the door wasn’t wide enough for it, so it leaned to one side and pulled itself through by force, claws grabbing the door edge for purchase. From the deep scars in the door-frame, this was its usual practice.

  Aryl spat out the bitter stuff and glared at the glistening Gurdo. “What was that for?”

  “You were covered in sand.” As if she should have realized. “I can’t have sand in my home.”

  And as if the blue blood staining that sand didn’t matter in the least.

  As homes went, this wasn’t much: a square room no more than five long strides wide in either direction, though two levels high. Quiet, dimly lit, its furnishings were four large polished rocks, speckled with gray, set into the floor. In the midst of the rocks, a small pool of dark water gurgled busily to itself. A set of stairs against a side wall led to the only other door, at the next level. There were no windows, but the wall straight ahead featured a framed image of water sliding over black rocks. Rocks with small black eyes. Eyes that disturbingly followed any movement, Aryl noticed.

  The Carasian lowered itself over one of the chair-rocks, resting its pair of big claws on the floor. “Let me guess,” it said briskly once the two M’hiray had sat. “You need idents. Certificates. For how many?”

  Aryl pushed an impatient lock of wet hair back. “Everyone.”

  A flash of caution.

  She understood Enris’ concern; she had no time for it. Not while the M’hiray waited beneath their feet, trusting them to find the way out. “There are seven hundred and thirty of us. We need a place to live. Now.” Aryl thought
of the crowded roofs and buildings outside and shuddered inwardly. “Better than this. Private. Away from Humans.”

  So much for blending in. With a hint of irony.

  It knows we aren’t Human. Flat and sure. Trust me.

  The Carasian dipped its head from one shoulder to the other. “If you picked this world, you know anything can be arranged for a price.”

  “A price?”

  This is where you trust me, beloved.

  She’d prefer to test her new weapon, but this was Enris’ knowledge, not hers. Though why was she so sure?

  The reason slid away, leaving only belief.

  Aryl subsided, crossing her legs on the rock to prove it.

  “We’ve brought items to trade,” Enris said in a casual tone. “Offworld items. Quite valuable.”

  We did?

  I’ve asked Naryn and Haxel to check our belongings. There must be something. Any doubt of that Enris might have had—which Aryl shared—he didn’t allow to reach his face or voice. “We’d be glad to show them to the right trader. Would that be you?”

  Silence, then a deep, “No.”

  Aryl prepared to get to her feet. We can still find the creature I chased.

  “That would be Louli,” the Carasian continued. A smaller claw indicated the stairs.

  “Lawren Louli. This is my place. Doc’s Dive. Do you like the name? It’s a little joke. Not everyone gets that. Gurdo tells me you have a problem that could mean profit. Profit I like. Wasting time, I don’t. You look like a waste of time. You get that?”

  Bemused by this rapid stream of words—Louli seemed to not need to breathe—Aryl missed the tiny pause that was her chance to speak.

  “That’s a lot of offworlders to settle. Private and safe, I hear. Quick, too. Why’s that? Why quick?”

  “We don’t waste time,” Enris countered, smiling. “Can you help?”

  This Human female was different from the others Aryl had seen, beginning with her clothing. Every colorful section was a different eye-twisting pattern. There were two sections for each arm, and left and right arms didn’t match. Each shoulder differed from the torso, which was itself, though shaped like a snug-fitting jacket, in four fabrics. The sleek pants were divided into three down each leg, neither leg coordinated to the other. Each foot, Aryl noticed when she snuck a peek under the table, wore a different kind of shoe.

  The only item of clothing spared the battle of color was the white cap on Louli’s short-cropped white hair. Was “cap” the right word? The object in question was taller than any cap Aryl remembered, and sat neatly on the back of the Human’s head. It did add height, she decided.

  Not that Louli needed help to dominate the conversation. Her bright blue eyes darted between them as if she suspected trickery. Between her quick incisive speech, and the way the Carasian lowered itself at her side—once it had forced its way up the stairs and through the door with loud rattling and complaints—Aryl was quite sure who felt in charge.

  Here.

  They overlooked the packed floor, with its “stage” and pox pit. The area around them was quiet except for their own voices and, though they could see the crowded tables to either side of this area, no one there appeared to see them. Aryl didn’t know how it was done, but she approved. The three tables by the rail looked the same as the rest, but were of polished wood. Real flame burned in bowls of scented oil at their centers. Except where a second set of stairs led down, the floor was covered in a thick, rich carpet, its surface carved with an ornate design.

  Marred with wet footprints. Aryl’s hair had dried itself, but she and Enris sat at the Human’s table in sopping clothes courtesy of Gurdo’s aversion to sand. She sniffed self-consciously. The bitter water had left a smell behind.

  Louli didn’t remark on it. Perhaps because more carpets hung on the back wall and she’d have this one changed once her damp guests had left.

  “Help you?” she repeated. “Depends. Depends. Names would help. If you have them. Species. Gurdo says you aren’t Human. Could have fooled me. Look it, both of you.”

  Her Chosen’s silence said it all. Aryl felt her face grow warm. “I’m Aryl di Sarc,” she said quickly, before Louli went on. “This is Enris d’sud Sarc. We’re M’hiray. The only Clan—”

  “Clan. Simple. I like simple. Start giving me glottal stops and nonsensical spits, and I won’t bother remembering you. Now. Aryl and Enris of the Clan. I’m a busy being.” Not that there was anything to be busy about in sight, but Louli sounded definite. “Tell me what you have to offer.”

  Something she’d like to know, too.

  “I can do better.” Enris was unperturbed. “I’ll show you. There’s a sample on the way here.”

  There is? she asked.

  We can hope.

  “Better not take long.” The bright blue eyes snapped to Aryl. “You. Go enjoy the ’Dive while we wait. Unless you have something against honest gambling.”

  “ ‘Gambling?’ ” Aryl echoed.

  “Luck, chance, fortune, wagers, house always wins. Gambling.”

  “The pox,” Gurdo rumbled helpfully.

  Never back down, Aryl thought, and lifted an eyebrow. “I wasn’t—” she said in her best imitation of the blue-lipped female’s voice, “—entertained.”

  Louli stared, then laughed. “House won. I’ve no quarrel. Don’t suppose you’d be interested in a repeat performance? Solid demand for pretties who’ll butcher in public.”

  Before Aryl could attempt to decipher this, Enris spoke up. “Thank you for the offer, but we’ll be leaving with the rest of our people.”

  “If I like what you show me. Otherwise, you won’t be going anywhere.”

  Aryl’s focus narrowed to Louli’s fragile neck.

  The Carasian slowly rose from its crouch.

  Words, beloved. Only words. Go. This will be easier if I deal with her alone.

  She was, Aryl decided, heartily sick of words. And of Humans who threatened what she cared about. “I’ll wait down there.”

  Making it her idea to leave.

  Interlude

  ENRIS DID HIS BEST to look relaxed as his Chosen followed the giant Carasian down the stairs to the ’Dive’s main level. Aryl had no concern about its company, though the bizarre creature could read her intentions in a way this seemingly clever Human did not.

  Something to remember.

  If only he could remember more, starting with the contents of the containers the M’hiray had brought to Stonerim III. Maddening, to be sure there was something of great value, without knowing what. Value they needed. Four groups had reported finding ways to go from this to the next level, ways closed to the M’hiray. Every lift and ramp way was guarded by those who checked for identification before allowing passage. Or took payment.

  Payment they didn’t have. They had to depend on Naryn and the others to find what they needed.

  And this Lawren Louli to do what she implied she could.

  Enris leaned back and smiled his best smile. “Tell me about this settlement you have in mind for the Clan.”

  “On this world? There’s really only one worth considering—for those who can afford it. The Towers of Lynn, on the Necridi Coast. I’m not saying there’s any left to buy, can’t promise, but for the right price another purchaser might be convinced to step aside. We aren’t talking cheap, Friend Enris.” She tapped a forefinger on the table, nail tipped with white. “Sun Layer Grandies couldn’t swing a Tower now. Offworld funds snapped up the first offering and the coming builds. Which makes it what you want. Private. Safe. Mostly non-Human.”

  “We’d have to see it first.” He knew better than to seem desperate, even if they were.

  Are you sure you don’t need me there, Enris? A definite hint of desperate in Aryl’s sending, too. She wouldn’t enjoy the crowded floor below.

  I’m sure, he replied, with a twinge of guilt. But his Chosen’s honesty and passion were the last thing he needed when dealing with a trading partner like this Human. Enj
oy yourself and don’t attract attention.

  A promise as her presence retreated from his, I’ll blend in.

  Unlikely, under any circumstances. Enris smiled to himself.

  “A drink?”

  His stomach remembered for him. “I’d prefer something to eat,” he said gratefully. “It’s been a while since . . .” Supper? Breakfast? “. . . I ate.”

  “What’s your rating?” Louli smiled. “Wouldn’t do to poison such a handsome guest.” When he hesitated, she pursed her lips. “You really aren’t local, are you? Are you First, then? Unaligned? Fringe?”

  He had no idea. “Offworld.”

  “I got that. Don’t want to say. Don’t need to know. Fair enough. I’ll screen your blood for something safe. If you Clan have blood? Not every being does.”

  “We do.” Safe was important, Enris thought, though how his blood could tell a Human what would be, he didn’t know.

  Naryn? Anything?

  Nothing yet. Seeds, of all things. Tools. Food. But we’re not done.

  Following Louli’s guidance, he put one finger into a hollow cube she held out. Numbers and symbols swarmed across its surface. “Do I get to eat?” he asked hopefully.

  “Anything the ’Dive serves.” Louli shook her head. “Wish I had your tolerance. Some of the hots Gurdo tosses in give me a rash. What’s your pleasure?”

  He had no idea. “Surprise me,” Enris replied, feeling clever.

  Enris. We found them. Naryn, excitement bubbling through her mindvoice. The artifacts. I can’t believe I didn’t remember. What do you need?

  To know what an artifact was? Enris didn’t bother to ask. Something to impress our contact.

  Done. With reassuring promptness. Send me the locate.

  Somewhere without a witness. When you’re ready, ’port here. He showed Naryn the Carasian’s quarters. It will be empty. Come up the stairs.

  “Surprise you? Glad to.” Louli pressed her palm against the tabletop. “Number Four, Suicidal,” she said. “Pitcher of water. Bucket in case. Two beers, the good stuff.”