by Sarah Zettel
T’sha felt her bones loosen with weariness. It must be kept productive. Certainly. But if not for our families, then for what?
T’sha inflated, trying to let her mood roll off her skin. There was important work to be done, and she had to be tightly focused. Her kite dropped its tethers toward the Law Meet’s mooring clamps. T’sha leaned back on her posthands so she could collect her belongings: an offering for the temple, the congratulatory banner for Ambassador Pr’sef’s latest wedding, and the bulging satchel of promissory agreements which she had negotiated in return for the votes she needed. She had promised away a great deal of work from her city and her families for this vote. She had to keep telling herself that they all gave freely and that she was doing this for the entirety of the people, not just for herself. This was necessary. It was not greed.
The clamps took hold of the tethers and reeled the kite in to a resting height. T’sha launched herself into the wind, her parcels dangling from three of her hands.
A temple surmounted the High Law Meet. It was a maze of ligaments and colored skins, covered in a complex blanket of life. In the corners and catches, puffs, birds, flies, algae bubbles, smoke growers, and a hundred other plants and animals collected. Funguses and danglers grew from the walls and fed the creatures who lived there, until the winds that blew them in blew them away again.
As she let those winds carry her toward the temple’s center, T’sha tried to relax and immerse herself in the messages of life present in every plant, every insect and bird. She had only marginal success. There was too much waiting on the vote in the Meet below to allow her to give in to her meditations.
The temple’s center was ablaze with tapestries, each illustrating a history, parable, or lesson. Congregants were supposed to let the random winds blow them toward a tapestry and consider its moral. This time, however, T’sha steered herself toward a small tapestry that fluttered alone in a deep curve of the wall. It was ancient, woven entirely from colored fibers taken from the canopy. It depicted a lone male, his hands bony, his skin sagging, and his muzzle open in muttered speech. His rose and violet crest draped flat against his back as if he lacked the strength to raise it. All around him stretched the crust, naked to the sky.
As T’sha drank in the tapestry’s details, a teacher drifted to her side. “Tell me this story,” he said.
The words spread the warmth of familiarity through T’sha. Her youth had seemed dominated by those words. Her birth mother, Pa’and, had brought T’sha teacher after teacher, each more taxing than the last. Whether the lesson was maths, sciences, history, or even the geographies of the wind currents, they all seemed to start their quizzing by saying “Tell me this story.”
“Ca’doth was the first of the Teacher-Kings,” began T’sha, keeping her attention fixed on the tapestry, as was proper. “Contemplate the object and its lesson. This is the way to learn.” Which of the parade of teachers had first told her that? “He led twenty cities in the Equatorial Calms. But he wanted to harvest eight canopy islands that were also claimed by D’anai, who was Teacher-King for the Southern Roughs. A feud began. Each king made great promises to their neighbors to join their cause. Arguments and debates lasted years. Ca’doth, who was the greatest speaker ever known, persuaded the winds and the clouds and even the birds to help him.” T’sha’s imagination showed her Ca’dom, strong and healthy, spreading his wings to the listening clouds.
“What he wanted most was that the living highlands should stop feeding his enemies,” she went on, falling into the rhythm of her recitation. The teacher hovered close beside her, encouraging her with his silence. “But no matter how long he flew around the highlands, they made no response to his great speeches.” The smallest of the monocellulars originated in the living highlands, which expelled them into the air to be the seeds for all other life in the world.
“At last, he realized he would have to fly inside the highland to make it hear him. He dived straight down the throat of the living highland, beating his wings against winds of solid lava. He passed through a chamber where the walls were pale skin, a chamber of white bone, a chamber of silver plasma, and a chamber tangled with muscle and nerve. In each he heard a riddle to which he did not know the answer.” For a moment, she thought the teacher would ask her the riddles, but he did not, and she kept going. “Finally, Ca’dom came to a chamber where the air around him shimmered golden with the pure essence of life, and he knew he floated within the soul of the living highland.
“‘Why do you feed my enemies?’ he cried. ‘They steal what I need to live. I have promised away all my present that I may gain a future for my children, and yet you feed those who would destroy them. Why?’
“The soul of the highland answered him, ‘Life cannot choose who it helps. If your enemy came to me first, should I starve you instead?’
“But Ca’doth did not listen. He argued and pleaded and threatened, until the highland said ‘Very well, I will not feed your enemy.’
“Pleased, Ca’doth passed through the chambers, and there he heard the answers to all the riddles but could not tell which answer fitted which riddle. He emerged into the clear and returned to tell his family the highland would no longer feed their rivals.
“But when he reached his birth city, the city and all within were dead, starved.
“The highland would not feed the rivals, but the highland would no longer feed Ca’doth’s people either. Ca’doth turned from his rule and his other cities and drifted on the winds for the rest of his life, trying to fit the answers to the riddles.”
The teacher dipped his muzzle approvingly. “And what is the meaning of this story?”
“All life is linked,” answered T’sha promptly. “If that is forgotten, all life will die.” Even the flies, she sighed inwardly. Even the fungus. Even I and D’seun.
T’sha deflated before the teacher and flew respectfully underneath him. She slipped around the side of the temple to the gifting nets and deposited her offering—a pouch of seeds and epiphytes that her own family had recently spread in the canopy. They were having great success in healing a breech in the growth. Hopefully, the temple’s conservators could make use of them as well.
As she sealed the gifting net up and turned, she found herself muzzle-to-muzzle with Z’eth, one of the most senior ambassadors to the Meet. T’sha pulled back reflexively, fanning her wings to get some distance.
“Good luck, Ambassador T’sha,” said Z’eth, laughing a little at how startled her junior colleague was. Z’eth was big and round. Even when she had contracted herself, she was a presence that filled rooms and demanded attention. She had only three tattoos on her pale skin—her family’s formal name, the rolling winds, indicating she was a student of life, and the ambassador’s flock of birds on her muzzle. Despite her sparse personal decoration, there was something extravagant about Z’eth. Perhaps that was only because there was no promise so rare or exotic she would not make it if it benefited her city. T’sha could not blame her for that. The city K’est had sickened when T’sha was still a child, and Z’eth’s whole existence had become dedicated to keeping her city alive.
“Good luck, Ambassador Z’eth,” said T’sha. “I was on my way to your offices from here.”
“No doubt to speak of things it is not appropriate to discuss in temple.” Z’eth dipped her muzzle. “Shall we leave so we may converse freely?”
“Thank you, Ambassador.”
Z’eth and T’sha let themselves be blown through the temple corridors and out into the open air.
As soon as they were a decent distance from the temple’s walls, T’sha said, “I have the promissory for you regarding the imprinting service for the cortices grown in your facilities.”
“Excellent.” Z’eth tilted her wings and deflated so she descended smoothly alongside the High Law Meet. It was a delicate path, as the winds between the walls were strong and unpredictable. T’sha followed but had to flap clumsily to keep herself from being brushed against the painted-shel
l wall.
“I have not envied you these past hours, Ambassador.” Z’eth whistled sympathetically. “It is hard during your first term, especially if your first term is a historic one.” One of the arched corridor mouths opened behind them, but Z’eth wheeled around, dipping under the corridor instead of entering it T’sha followed her into the shallow, irregular tunnel underneath the real corridor, a little surprised.
Z’eth drifted close, her wings spread wide. Her words brushed across T’sha’s muzzle. “You needn’t worry about the vote. Your quiet promises and the work Ca’aed has done with Gaith have been most impressive. I have spoken where I can. Between us all we have turned the flow. You’ll have your appointment.”
T’sha nearly deflated with relief. At the same time she was conscious of Z’era’s steady gaze on her. Despite the promises she had already made, she still owed the senior ambassador, and it was a debt that would need to be paid before long.
T’sha resolved not to worry about that now. “Thank you again, Ambassador Z’eth.”
“You are welcome. I will see you in the voting chamber.” Z’eth lifted herself to the corridor mouth and disappeared inside.
T’sha floated where she was for a moment, remaining in place more because she was in a calm than from actual effort.
They had towed Gaith’s corpse encased in its quarantine blanket into Ca’aed’s wake. The rotting had so deformed it that it looked less like a city than an engineer’s experiment gone hideously wrong. Its people worked on it diligently, sampling and analyzing and salvaging, but it would have taken a thicker skin than T’sha’s not to feel the despair in them. It had taken Gaith a handful of hours to die. Who knew which village, which city, might be next?
And here was T’sha, doing her best to keep them all from what looked like the nearest safe course. She had quizzed the team supervisors from the other candidate worlds extensively. The seeds had not taken hold on any other of the ten worlds. Only Number Seven could readily support life.
But life might already have a claim on Number Seven. In spite of all, T’sha could not let that fact blow past. She had to see for herself that D’seun’s team was not ignoring a legitimate claim on the part of the New People. Now, according to Z’eth, she was going to get her chance.
Is this right, what I do? Life of my mother and life of my father, it has to be, because it is too late for me to do otherwise.
She shut her doubts off behind calculations about how many promises she could deliver before she was called to hear the vote. She lifted herself to the corridor mouth and joined the swarm of ambassadors and assistants propelling themselves deep into the Meet.
In the end, she was able to deliver four of the eight notes, staying long enough to give and accept polite thanks with each ambassador and discuss general pleasantries and the work being done on Gaith. She had to use her headset to leave message for the rest. The Law Meet was calling them all to hear the results of the latest poll.
When T’sha arrived, the spherical voting chamber already brimmed with her colleagues. There were no perches left. She would have to float in the stillness and try to keep from bumping rudely into anyone else.
“Good luck, T’sha,” murmured tiny, tight Ambassador Br’ve as she drifted above him.
“Good luck,” added Ambassador T’fron, whose bird tattoos were still fresh on his skin.
Their wishes warmed her, but not as much as the security of Z’eth’s promise.
T’sha found a clear spot in which to hover near the ceiling. Because the High Law Meet was currently on the dayside, the family trees, which were written in hot paints, glowed brightly against the white and purple walls. Each showed the connections and the promises of connection between the First Thousand. T’sha scanned the trees for her family’s names and found them, unchanging and immutable. She was their daughter. Her ancestors had birthed cities. She would save them, but not at the cost of their people’s souls.
She looked down between the crests and tattooed wings and spotted D’seun’s distinctive and overmarked back. He was practically touching the polling box. T’sha wondered whom he had made promises to and if he had anyone as powerful as Z’eth sponsoring his cause. If he’d managed to bring in H’tair or Sh’vaid on his side, the vote might not be as set as Z’eth believed. The mood of the meeting tightened rapidly around her. The announcement would come soon. Her bones shifted. Soon. Soon.
The polling box had been grown in the image of a person without wings or eyes. Its neural net ran straight into the floor of the voting chamber and was watched over by the High Law Meet itself. It would not be moved, and it looked with favor on no one. It was solid and impartial.
The box lifted its muzzle and spoke in a voice that rippled strongly through the chamber.
“The poll has been taken, recognized, and counted. Does any ambassador wish to register doubt as to the validity of the count contained in this box?”
No one spoke. T’sha tried to breathe evenly and hold her bones still.
“No doubt has been registered,” said the box. “A poll has been taken of the ambassadors to the High Law Meet on the following questions. First, should candidate world Seven be designated New Home? If this is decided positively, the second question is, should the current investigative team whose names are listed in the record continue under the leadership of Ambassador D’seun Te’eff Kan K’edch D’ai Gathad to establish the life base necessary for the growth of a canopy and the establishment of life ways for the People, with such expansion and promises as this project shall require?”
T’sha’s wings rippled. Her skin felt alert, open to every sensation from the brash of her own crest to the gentle waft of a whisper on the other side of the chamber.
“Is there any ambassador within the touch of these words who has not been polled on these questions?” asked the box. Silence, waiting, and tension strained her bones as if they were mooring ligaments in a high wind.
“No ambassador indicates not having been polled,” said the box. “Then, the consensus of the High Law Meet is as follows. On the first question, the consensus is yes, candidate world Seven is New Home.”
The rumble and ripple of hundreds of voices filled the chamber. T’sha remained still and silent. That was never the real question. The vote had to be yes. D’seun was right about that much. His peremptory poll of Ca’aed had confirmed that all the families agreed with the choice.
“On the second question,” the box went on, “the consensus is that Ambassador D’seun Te’eff Kan K’edch D’ai Gathad shall continue as the leader of the investigative team, that the current team will continue in the task of creating a life base with such expansions as are required for that task, provided that one of those expansions shall be the addition of Ambassador T’sha So Br’ei Taith Kan Ca’aed for the purpose of observing and studying the life currently named the New People. She shall ensure that these New People have no legitimate claim to New Home world that might counteract the validity of the consensus on the first question.”
There it was. She could now go to New Home herself and make sure the New People had no legitimate claim on the world. T’sha’s relief was so complete, she almost didn’t feel the congratulations erupting around her. When she was able to focus outward, she found herself in a storm of good-luck wishes and a hundred questions. She answered all she could, as fast as she could, while mentally cataloging the messages and calls she’d have to make as soon as the chamber opened again.
It might have been a moment or a lifetime later when D’seun rose to meet her.
“An interesting addendum, Ambassador T’sha,” he said flatly and coolly. “You have been working toward this for some time, I take it.”
T’sha met D’seun’s gaze and spoke her words straight to him. “Surely, you could not have been unaware of what I was doing. I was hardly secretive.”
D’seun’s bones contracted under his tattoos, and T’sha felt a swirl of exasperation. She shrank herself a little to match him. “D’seun
, there is no reason for us to be enemies on this. We both want the same thing. We both want to make New Home a reality. If that is to happen, we cannot discount the New People.”
“We cannot let their presence override everything we must do, either.” He thrust his muzzle forward. “You question and delay, you counter and debate everything! Every time we try to warn people what happened to Gaith, there you are, assuring us all that it isn’t so very bad, that we must just wait until its disease is understood, that we have the resources to understand.” His words tumbled harshly over her. “There is no more time. There is no way to understand. We must leave.”
T’sha deliberately deflated and sank, resisting the urge to fly right under him to make her point. “I am only one voice, D’seun. All the rest of the Senior Committee for New Home are your supporters. There will be very little I can do.”
D’seun dropped himself so he could look into her eyes. “Do not flutter helplessness at me, T’sha. What ‘little’ you can do, you will do.”
“Is there some promise you would give my families to have me do otherwise, D’seun?” asked T’sha bluntly. “How much will you give for me to disregard our new neighbors? Is there enough to make that right?”
D’seun did not answer.
“No, there is not,” said T’sha. “We are together in this, D’seun, until the task is over.”
“Until the task is over,” D’seun said softly. “Until then.”
D’seun rose from the world portal into the candidate world, now New Home. Its clean winds brushed the transfer’s disorientation off him. A quick turn about showed him P’tesk and T’oth waiting on the downwind side of the portal’s ring. D’seun flew quickly toward them.