Rift (66 page)

Loon and Golanifer passed breeder berms where human women crowded into courtyards and peered fearfully at the masses of weavers. There were many thousands of breeder women in the habitat, Golanifer said, as though discussing a herd of goats. Human women were easy to come by, and had flocked to the habitat over the decades. None were ever turned away lest other breeders be discouraged from coming. So they took all: young, old, infirm.

At first some of the infirm died. The orthong had no concept for
doctor
. If an orthong grew sick, as had sometimes happened in their history, an older weaver might try to assist the individual. But since sickness was usually the first sign of complete breakdown, an irreparable loss of confidence, the individual soon died. So when the orthong observed humans becoming
sick with some regularity, they had much to learn about healing at the human cellular level. The orthong were surprised at how well humans responded to such ministrations, and that the breeders had no concept for the inherent shame of illness.

By the time Golanifer was called upon to heal Loon, the orthong knew much about human makeup. Still, Loon was a great challenge. She had been poisoned by her indiscriminate feasting on the soils near the Rift Valley, and was neither human nor orthong. They had to find an experienced and willing weaver to deal with her. Golanifer was a good choice, a proponent of mixing human and orthong to expand what she called genetic diversity. She was doing a fine job with Loon, except for one misstep: She didn’t prevent Loon from forming a bond with her.

A touch upon Loon’s arm. Golanifer nodded at the berm. Salidifor’s berm. They had arrived.

Loon felt a lurch of alarm. Golanifer was leaving.

the weaver said.

Loon looked uneasily at the broad courtyard. Salidifor stood at the head of the berm stairs. He was an important individual. She bowed to him, as protocol dictated a human woman should and a weaver shouldn’t. Standing next to him was a short creature with skinny appendages. A tangle of black tendrils was embedded on the top of her head. Loon could smell her oily scent: not very interesting.

she said again.

Golanifer looked with some distaste at the creature standing beside Salidifor.

Divoranon was the highest among the orthong. Everything she said had to be properly outfolded. On Divoranon’s command, Loon was to speak to the outfold weavers, as many as she could. Loon was to let herself be touched by all. She was to be on her best
behavior so that the weavers would form a good impression of her, hybrid that she was. Now she was to respond to the human woman, despite the fact that she was not of interest and so much else
was!
However, if Golanifer would be pleased, Loon would do her best.

The human woman approached. She wanted to be known as Nerys.

Loon concentrated. She had known this one called Nerys once. Long ago they were together in a small, dark spot, smelling of urine and fear. Some Stationers were there, prisoners like her. And, ah … Spar. Tears sprouted. The orthong had killed him. She had spit on them. Now she loved them. She sank down on one knee, her head filled to bursting. Golanifer was at her side. After a long time, Loon was able to stand again.

Golanifer advised her.

Loon tried the
closing off
that Golanifer was trying to teach her. It was miserably hard. Meanwhile Nerys stood there, and had begun voicing something.

Loon said, to slow the woman down.

Nerys asked.

She
would
start with a hard one.

Nerys nodded.

Loon looked into the outfold, but Golanifer had disappeared.

Nerys was speaking again.

Loon was having some trouble keeping up with Nerys. She was surprisingly fluent.

she signed.

Nerys repeated her speech.

Loon relented. The sooner Nerys was satisfied, the sooner Golanifer would come back for her.

Nerys smiled, showing odd, white teeth. It was disturbing to see a hole in her face in just that spot.

Nerys’ mouth hardened for a moment.

She was halfway to disliking this person. But Golanifer would soon return and they would stroll through the outfold once more. Loon would give her something challenging to think about: She regarded Nerys’ pregnancy.

Nerys got one of her funny looks, that stiffening of her face that made her look like she had eaten bad soil.

Nerys asked:

Loon stared her down. This was becoming tedious. But she answered:

Nerys smirked.

Loon definitely did not like her attitude.

Loon said, searching the outfold for Golanifer.

Loon considered how to answer.

Loon put her hand to her head. She’d forgotten. Golanifer said it might grow back; Loon hoped it wouldn’t. Then she spotted Golanifer. The sunlight fell through the tall outfold onto the orthong’s arms, where her silver streaks gleamed. Nerys was saying something, but Loon could only watch as Golanifer approached. She ran a few paces toward the orthong.

In response to Nerys, Golanifer said,

Nerys said.

Nerys asked.

Golanifer didn’t answer, but turned and guided Loon toward the edge of the compound.

Nerys followed them a few paces.

Golanifer stopped and stared at Nerys and her forwardness. Then she took Loon by the arm and led her into the outfold.

This Nerys was a pest, and Loon was glad to be rid of her. Back in the beloved outfold, her eyes were drenched in an explosion of color, as the outfold, now streaming with afternoon sun, created morphing patterns on every surface. Loon stopped in her tracks, unable to see the path for the twisting displays of heat and color.

Golanifer said. Loon felt Golanifer’s hand firmly grasping her upper arm.

They came to a portal in the hillside. It arched high overhead, and a warm current issued from the opening. At once Loon felt the visual and olfactory relief. She covered her face for a moment, to get her bearings. The smell of good, brown soil both calmed and aroused her. She found herself on her knees, scraping at the packed soil of the floor with her fingernails.

Golanifer crouched beside her.

When Loon looked into the orthong’s face, she could only weep.

In Golanifer’s dark eyes sparks of light blinked on and off, like fireflies near a campfire.

Loon was glad to see this comment, but she could take little hope from it, numb as she was.

Golanifer made her smile-look.

Golanifer raised her chin:
Yes
.

And so, not knowing anything but trusting in everything, Loon followed Golanifer into one of the great caverns where they created their hardcasts. Loon was so tired she barely regarded the airships that the weavers were outshaping. Their ships would carry the strike force into the Rift Valley. But Loon had little interest in such things. Weavers did not like to fly. Loon decided she did not like to fly.

As Golanifer led her through the cavern, many weavers crowded around, touching her. These females were attracted to outshaping, since their skills were not conducive to the more complex outfolding in the forest. Loon felt their hands on her arms, her temples, the back of her neck. They shielded themselves, she noted.

Golanifer led her to a small room in back, deep in the soothing tunnels of the cavern. There she lay down on a bed, and Golanifer put her hand on Loon’s face, asking her if she would sleep now.

Loon responded, And in the next moment she passed into a state of blessed unknowing.

17
 
1

Day seventy-four
. They were packed into the airship so tight Reeve could barely move. At least twenty-five orthong warriors were crowded into this airship alone, making him feel decidedly uneasy. The vibration of the deck plates beneath his feet and an occasional turn of the craft were his only sensations of movement in the silent ship. He hadn’t even had a moment to inspect the craft from the outside to guess at its propulsion system before he was herded onboard with this cadre of orthong.