Brightness Reef (73 page)

“We know a shortcut,” Kurt put in, absurdly.

“—and just a while ago we were plotting a mad dash just to reach the nearest village, as if it were as hopeless as a journey to a moon!”

“I never said it would be easy.” Kurt sighed. “Look, all I want to know right now is this. If I could convince you it was possible, would you come?”

Sara bit back her initial reply. Kurt had already pulled miracle powers and god-machines out of that satchel of his. Did he also have a magic carpet in there? Or a fabled antigravity sled? Or a gossamer-winged glider to catch

the offshore wind and loft them to a distant mountain of fire?

“I can’t waste time talking nonsense.” She stood up, worried about the Stranger. It was getting dark fast, and though Ulgor had fled to the northwest, there was no guarantee she would not circle around to seek and surprise the man from space. “I’m going to go look-“

A scream interrupted, making her jump. A shrill ululation of surprise and outrage that warbled melodically, almost like a snatch of frantic song, rebounding off the rocks so many times that their bruised ears could not pin down where it came from. Sara’s back shivered with empathic terror at the awful sound.

Prity snatched up one of the long urrish knives and stepped closer to the nervous prisoners. Jomah fondled the smallest of the desert hunters’ bows, nocking an arrow against the string. Sara flexed her hands, knowing that a weapon should be in them, but the thought of holding one felt obscene. She could not bring herself to do it.

A character flaw, she admitted, a bit dazedly. One I shouldn’t pass on to kids. Not if we’re headed into an age of violence and “heroes.”

Tension built as the wail intensified. An eerie howl that seemed one part pain, one part despair, and eight parts humiliation, as if death would be preferable to whatever the screamer was going through. It grew louder and more frenzied with each passing dura, causing the prisoners to crowd together, peering anxiously into the gloom.

Then another sound joined, in basso counterpoint. A rapid, unrhythmic thumping that made the ground tremble like an approaching machine.

Kurt cocked the pistol, holding it in front of him.

Suddenly, a shadow took form at the western fringe of firelight. A monstrous shape, slanted and heavy, protruding forward at a rising angle, leading with an appendage that flailed and thrashed like a cluster of waving arms and legs. Sara gasped and stepped back.

A moment later it resolved itself, and she let out a shuddering sigh, recognizing Ulgor as the protrusion, moaning in distress and shame, held up in the air by the adamant embrace of two armored, pincer-equipped, chitinous arms.

Qheuenish arms. The remaining three out of five stumbled forward clumsily, fighting for balance as the writhing urs fought to break free.

“Resistance is useless,” a scratchy but familiar voice whistled from two leg-vents, a voice dry with the same caked dust that fooled Sara at first, into thinking the armor was slate gray. Only near the fire did a hint of the true shade of blue glimmer through.

“Hello f-f-folks,” croaked Blade, son of Log Biter of Dolo Dam. “Could anybody s-s-spare a drink of water?”

The night was clear, windy, and extremely cold for this time of year. They nursed their fuel supply for the fire and draped fragments of the shredded tent over huddled groups of captives, to help them retain body heat. Darkness hauled the urs-including a tightly bound Ulgor-down toward sleep, but the human insurgents muttered together under their makeshift shelter, making Sara ponder glumly what they must be scheming. Clearly they had less desire than the surviving members of UrKachu’s band to see more Urunthai arrive over the hilltops, tomorrow or the next day. If they sawed or chewed through their bindings in the darkness, what deterrence value would Kurt’s pistol hold in the event of a sudden charge?

Granted, many of the men were flash-blinded. And Blade was a comfort to have around. Even wheezing dust, and with the softer chitin of a blues he was an intimidating figure. With him present, Sara and the others might even risk taking turns trying to get some sleep.

If only we knew what’s happened to the star-man, she worried.—

He’d been gone for several miduras. Even with Loocen now up to shed a wan glow across the country-side, it was all too easy to imagine the poor fellow getting lost out there.

“The gunshot helped lead me to your camp,” Blade explained once Sara and Jomah had sponged out his vents and eye circle, using up much of their precious water. “I was becoming rather desperate, unable to follow your trail in the fading light, when I heard the bang. A bit later, there was the reflection of your fire off yonder spire.”

Sara looked up. A flicker did seem to dance across the tall stone tower. Perhaps it would guide the Stranger home.

“Imagine my surprise, though, when someone came running forth to greet me!” Blade chuckled out three vents. “Of course, my shock was nothing like Ulgor’s when she saw me!”

The qheuen’s tale was simple, if valiant. He had waited underwater, back at Uryutta’s Oasis, until UrKachu’s fast group departed, followed by the slower expedition of captives and booty. Blade spent the time contemplating his options. Should he strike out for Crossroads or some other settlement? Or else try to follow and give help when help might do the most good? Either decision would mean dehydration and pain-not to mention danger. Sara noticed that Blade never mentioned a third option: to wait at the oasis until someone came along. Perhaps it never occurred to him.

“One thing I didn’t expect-to find you four in charge, having overcome both groups all by yourselves! It appears you never needed rescue, after all.”

Jomah laughed from atop Blade’s carapace, where he was sponging off the qheuen’s scent-slits. The boy hugged his blue cupola. “You saved the day!”

Sara nodded. “You’re the biggest hero of all, dear, dear friend.”

There seemed no more to say after that. Or else, everyone was too tired for more words. They watched the flames in silence for a while. At one point Sara stared at Loocen, observing the bright, reflected-sunlight twinkle of abandoned Buyur cities, those enduring reminders of the might and glory that once filled this solar system and that would again, someday.

We sooners are like Jijo’s dreams, she thought. Ghostlike wraiths who leave no trace when we are gone. Passing fantasies, while this patch of creation rests and makes ready for the next phase of achievement by some godlike race.

It was not a comforting contemplation. Sara did not wish to be a dream. She wanted what she did and thought in life to matter, if only as contributions to something that grew better with time, through her works, her children, her civilization. Perhaps this desire was rooted in the irreverent upbringing provided by her mother, whose offspring included a famous heretic, a legendary hunter, and a believer in crazy theories about a different kind of redemption for all of the races of the Six.

She thought back to her conversation with Dedinger.

We’ll probably never know which of us would have been right, if the Commons had been left alone to go its own way. Too bad. Each of us believes in something that’s beautiful, in its own way. At least, a whole lot more beautiful than extinction.

Silence allowed some of the world’s natural sounds to grow familiar once again, as residual tintinnations in her ears slowly ebbed.

I should be glad not to be completely deaf or blind at this point-let alone dead. If there’s any permanent damage, I’ll manage to live with it.

The Stranger set a good example, ever cheerful despite horrific loss of much that had made him who he was. She decided, at times like these, any attitude but gritty stoicism simply made no sense at all.

Of the sounds brought forth by the night, some were recognizable. A floating cadence of sighs that was wind, stroking the nearby prairie and then funneling through the columns of twisted stone. A distant, lowing moan told of a herd of gallaiters. Then came the grumbling rattle of a ligger, warning all others to stay out of its territory, and the keening of some strange bird.

While she listened, the keening changed in pitch, waxing steadily in volume. Soon she realized, That’s no bird.

It wasn’t long before the sound acquired a throaty power, steadily increasing until it took over possession of the night, pushing all competitors aside. Sara stood up and the bulging tent fragments rippled as others reacted to the rising clamor-a din that soon climaxed as a bawling roar, forcing her hands over her tender ears. Blade’s cupola shrank inward, and the captive urs bayed unhappy counterpoint, rocking their long necks back and forth. Pebbles fell from the nearby rocky spires, worrying Sara that the towers might topple under the howling shove of disturbed air.

That sound—I heard it once before.

The sky grew radiant as something bright passed into view—decelerating with a series of titanic booms—a glowing, many-studded tube whose heat was palpable, even at a distance of—

Of what? Sara had glimpsed a starship only once before, a far-off glitter from her treehouse window. Beyond that, she had pictures, sketches, and dry, abstract measurements to go on-all useless for comparison, as her mind went numb.

It must still be high up in the atmosphere, she realized. Yet it seemed so big . . .

The god-ship passed from roughly southwest to northeast, clearly descending, slowing down for a landing. It took no great ingenuity to guess its destination.

For all its awesome beauty, Sara did not feel anything this time but a sour churn of dread.

Lark

IT WAS HARD TO MAKE OUT MUCH FROM A DISTANCE. The blaze of light coming from the Glade was so intense, it cast long shadows, even down the forested lanes of a mountainside, many leagues away.

“Now you see what you’re up against,” Ling told him, standing nearby, watched by a half-dozen wary militiamen. “This won’t be anything like taking down a couple of little bodyguard robots.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” Lark answered, shading his eyes to peer against the glare, as searchlights roved across the crater where the alien station lay in ruins. After two days without sleep, the far-off engines reminded him of a growl of a she-ligger, just returned from a hunt to find her pup mauled and now nursing a killing rage.

“It’s still not too late, you know,” Ling went on. “If you hand over your zealot rebels-and your High Sages- the Rothen may accept individual rather than collective guilt. Punishment doesn’t have to be universal.”

Lark knew he should get angry. He ought to whirl and decry the hypocrisy of her offer-reminding her of the evidence everyone had seen and felt earlier, proving that her masters planned genocide all along.

Two things stopped him.

First, while everyone now knew the Rothen planned inciting bloody civil war, aimed foremost at the human population of Jijo, the details were still unclear.

And the devil lies in the details.

Anyway, Lark was too tired to endure another mental tussle with the young Danik biologist. He turned his head in a neck-twist that mimicked an urrish shrug, and hiss-clicked in GalTwo—

“Have we not (much) better things to do, than to discuss (intensely) absurd notions?”

This brought approving snickers from the guards, accompanying the two of them into hiding. Other groups were escorting Rann and Ro-kenn to separate concealed places, dispersing the hostages as far apart as possible.

Yes, but why did they put me in charge of Ling?

Maybe they figure she’ll be too busy constantly fighting with me to plan any escape.

For all he knew, the two of them might be stuck together for a long time to come.

Silence reigned as they watched the mighty starship cruise back and forth, shining its fierce beam onto every corner of the Glade, every place where a pavilion had stood, only miduras before. From a remote mountainside, it was transfixing, hypnotic.

“Sage, we must be going now, it’s still not safe.”

That was the militia sergeant, a small wiry woman named Shen, with glossy black hair, delicate features, and a deadly compound bow slung over one shoulder. Lark blinked, at first wondering who she was talking to.

Sage—ah, yes.

It would take some getting used to. Lark had always figured his heresy would disqualify him, despite his training and accomplishments.

But only a sage can rule in matters of life or death.

As the group resumed their trek, he could not help glancing at Ling. Though half the time he “wanted to strangle her,” that was only a figure of speech. Lark doubted he could ever carry out his duty, if it came to that. Even now, smudged and gaunt from exhaustion, her face was too lovely by far.

A midura or so later, a blaring cry of dismay filled the mountain range, echoing round frosted peaks to assail them from all sides, setting trees quivering. A militia soldier pointed back along the trail to where the starship’s artificial glow had just grown impossibly brighter. They all ran to the nearest switchback offering a view southwest and raised their hands to shield their eyes.

“Ifni!” Lark gasped, while guards clutched their crude weapons, or each other’s arms, or made futile hand gestures to ward off evil. Every face was white with reflected radiance.

“It . . . can’t ... be ...” Ling exhaled heavily, sighing each word.

The great Rothen ship still hovered over the Glade—as before, bathed in light.

Only now the light blazed down upon it from above—cast by a new entity.

Another ship.

A much, much bigger ship, like a grown urs towering over one of her larvae.

Ub . . . went Lark’s mind as he stared, struggling to adjust to the change in scale. But all he could come up with -was a blaspheming thought.

The new monster was huge enough to have laid the Holy Egg and still have room inside for more.

Trapped underneath the behemoth, the Rothen craft gave a grinding noise and trembled, as if straining to escape, or even to move. But the light pouring down on it now seemed to take on qualities of physical substance, like a solid shaft, pressing it ever lower toward the ground. A golden color flowed around the smaller star-craft as it scraped hard against Jijo’s soil. The dense lambency coated and surrounded it, congealing like a glowing cone, hardening as it cooled.