Rift in the Sky (10 page)

While he had no idea what “anything” might mean to the Strangers and their vast Trade Pact, he wouldn't say no to a bioscanner and Marcus' healing technology.

It hadn't been offered. Nothing would be, Enris realized abruptly. “But not with the Oud. Or us.”

“No.” The Human blew out a breath, then ducked his head to look up at Enris. “Not my idea, Enris. Not a Human one. Before we came, before the Commonwealth reach this far, this space
governed
by species already here. The First. They made rules for those searching for what remained of the Hoveny Concentrix. The search must be by Triads. Triads must be of different species. Discoveries must be shared. Include Humans. Good rules.” He grimaced. “One not good rule. On worlds with
vestigialpopulations,
with people who no longer remember the Hoveny existed, or maybe later
colonists
who never
overlapped
—lived together—any discoveries belong to the Triads. These,” he pointed to the crate of wafers, “are yours. The Cloisters are yours. The artifacts are not.”

“Do the Oud understand this? That you'll take what they've found?”

“Think so. Hope so. Maybe.” Marcus looked older, weary. “Oud don't want the artifacts. They want to know what they are for.”

“What is?” the Oud had asked him. Enris would never forget that day. “Why?”

Another sidelong look, something of a smile. “Oud are makers. They want ideas, more and more ideas. What could be made? What would it do? How to make it—they work that out themselves. Busy. Always busy. Like you, that way.”

He bristled. “They are not,” Enris said through clenched teeth, “like me.”

“Not like you,” Marcus agreed, too quickly. “Because some Oud want something else. They want to know why they are here.” His toe tapped the floor.

“Here. At Sona?”

An appraising look. A second tap. “On Cersi.”

It was as if the floor tilted, or the light changed color. Aryl had warned him how mere words could make the Human suddenly strange and terrifying. That if they weren't careful what they asked, Marcus could change their world the same way. He hadn't understood.

Until now.

Enris found himself short of breath. “The Oud,” he said finally, firmly, “have always been here. Like the Tikitik. Like us.”

Marcus considered him silently for a moment, then made the gesture of apology he'd learned. “My mistake.”

There was nothing on his face but kindness.

Without touching him, without
reaching
for the Human's feelings—certain to cause Marcus pain—Enris couldn't be sure.

He didn't need to be. After Marcus Bowman was willing to believe what he'd told him of the Vyna and the Glorious Dead, he, Enris di Sarc, had refused to make a similar leap.

Failing a challenge as real and as important as any he'd faced.

And the Human pitied him.

He pushed the crate on the table closer to Marcus. “Best these stay here. For now.” And stood.

Marcus rose too. “Enris—”

“Don't—” he began and stopped, ashamed, unsure why.

“I must. Listen to me. I should be more careful what I say. What I ask. I know better. Did Aryl tell you, she ran from me? Almost died because of my foolish words? Because I forget you are not Human.”

Enris clapped Marcus on one shoulder, in Human-fashion. “A mistake we'd never make, my friend.”

“Aryl,” Marcus announced. At Enris' startled look, “Your face says so.”

Perceptive in the oddest ways. “Aryl,” he confirmed, then took both of the Human's shoulders in a gentle grip. “Listen to me, Marcus. Don't be more careful. Tell us what we should know.” He shook his head ruefully. “But maybe not so much at once.”

“I understand.” But as Enris turned to leave, Marcus held his wrist, palm against bare skin. An invitation. Lowering his shields just enough, the Om'ray sensed
goodwill
and
determination.
“Something you must do. Before I leave Cersi. Wait. Wait.” Muttering to himself, the Human rushed away to dig through the disorganized mass of objects on a counter. It was a wonder, Enris thought with amusement, any of the devices continued to work.

“Wait! Must take these. Should have done before.” More muttering.

He's not the only one.
But she didn't
feel
concerned.

Marcus emerged triumphant, clutching what looked like a pair of pink eggs attached by a metal thread. “Here!” He pressed the eggs over his eyes, the thread behind his head, then pulled the device off and thrust it at Enris. “
Sleepteach
. You learn
Comspeak
. Both? Maybe no,” he appeared to be arguing with himself. “Not Aryl. Wait for baby. You. You can learn now.” When Enris didn't take them, unsure, the Human shook the little eggs, making them click together. “Everyone in the Trade Pact uses same words. Use this, you will understand anyone. Everyone.” A fleeting frown. “If it works for Om'ray. Should. Won't harm.”

Enris?
A tinge of worry. She was picking up his doubt.
What's going on?

He couldn't do that. Not if he grasped what Marcus offered. “Will I still understand real words—Om'ray words?”

“Yes yes yes. Sleepteach adds information to the memory, not take any away. You won't notice any change. But if you hear Comspeak words,” Marcus nodded vigorously, “you will hear what they mean. You will be able to answer, using those words. With my
innerworldaccent
,” he added confusingly. “Sorry. Don't know how to
reprogram
. You'll sound like someone from Stonerim III. That's not a bad thing. Proper
vowels.
”

Enris found he had taken the device. It was warm from Marcus' hands. There were no controls or markings. He made to put it on his head.

“Not yet. Lie down, ready for sleep. Put over eyes, then say these words:
activate . . . standard . . . teach . . . mode.
You say them.”

“ ‘Activate standard teach mode.' ” The little eggs went from pink to white.

“To stop, take it off, or say
end . . . session
.”

“ ‘End session.' ” Pink again. Enris wanted to try the words again, to see the colors change, but didn't. The Human was used to such effects. He didn't want to seem like a child caught up by novelty.

He could do it later anyway.

“Thank you, Marcus.”

Enris?
Calm, but this time with the faintest touch of
confusion.
So much for the water. If Aryl couldn't convince the Oud, no one could. Shaking his head to himself, he headed for the door.

“Come again to visit.” The Human sounded almost wistful. “Before I go.”

Enris glanced over his shoulder. “We'll try, Marcus. Hard to spare anyone right now, with water so . . .” he let his voice trail away, eyes searching the room, jammed with devices and technology and crates. And dirty clothes. “You know our problem. You watch us, don't you? From above.”

The Human's cheeks turned pink. “
Surveillancemandatory.
Not my choice.”

“We understand. But—” An idea took hold. An idea worthy of Aryl di Sarc, if it worked. “Can you see us outside in truenight?”

Marcus hesitated, then shrugged. “Yes.”

Enris smiled broadly. “I need a favor, my friend. A favor that could let us visit you as often as you want until you go.”

Marcus Bowman raised one eyebrow. “What?”

“Make sure no one watches Sona this truenight. Can you do it? No vids, no recordings. No eyes. Of any kind,” Enris added hastily, thinking of the Strangers who looked nothing like Human or Om'ray. “Just for this truenight. That's all.”

“That's all. Interrupt surveillance. Leave a hole in the record.” A corner of Marcus' lips twitched upward. “You don't ask what's easy, do you?”

“We didn't ask you to watch us,” Enris countered.

“Good point.” The Human nodded to himself. “All right. I can give you privacy for one night. But don't wander through the site after dark. The security fields and autodefense will still be on. Those need a pair of
idents
to be deactivated and I don't want to explain that to Vogt or Tsessas.”

“No need. Privacy for Sona, until dawn. Thank you.”

“Do I want to know why?”

“If it works, you'll find out tomorrow.” Enris smiled warmly. “You're a good friend, Marcus. A good friend.”

The Human's fond yet skeptical expression at this reminded him of Jorg. His father had had the same look whenever Enris tried to blame Kiric for the latest abuse of the family kitchen. Their mother, Ridersel, would hide a smile. They'd known him so well.

They were dead now. Because of the Oud.

“Enris?”

“Nothing.” He restored his smile. “Time to see what's happening outside. Good-bye and thank you, Marcus.”

First, Enris pushed his wonderful new idea as far down in his consciousness as he could. After all, if it worked, he wanted his Chosen surprised.

If it didn't, the fewer who knew the better.

T
O SPEAK INTELLIGIBLE WORDS, an Oud had to rear and expose its limbs. There were many, most with hooks or claws, but a clustered few worked together—somehow—to produce sound.

Making sense of those words, Aryl thought impatiently, was the hard part. The Oud Speaker, it turned out, believed the Om'ray had received exactly what they'd been promised.

“No, we haven't,” she told it again. “The Oud still get more. You haven't sent enough to Sona. You promised we'd get most of the river!”

“Did! YESYESYESYES!” It reared higher, rocking back and forth to emphasize its point. Having descended from its vehicle—she assumed to knock on the Human's door—the rocking made it sink slightly into the ground. Rather, mud. Wherever Oud treads hadn't torn up the dirt, small plants sprouted, a single leaf curled just so. Nekis, most likely. The waterfall's spray reached this far with the right breeze. Water was everything, Aryl thought with longing. She even missed the rains that drove Yena under roofs for days. “Sona enough.”

“No.” She tried to think of a more mature response. “No. Not enough!”

“Sent share. Sent enough. YESYESYES. Oud good. Sona waste.”

“ ‘Waste . . . !' ” Aryl bit her lip, holding back a satisfying but likely useless retort. The accusation made no sense. How could they be more careful with the trickle that arrived at Sona? They took turns filling buckets for the plants and spared little for themselves. She couldn't remember her last proper bath. If the rest of her Clan hadn't been suffering, too, she'd have leaped into the Human's marvelous fresher device. With Enris.

A tendril of hair tickled her ear, expressing its opinion.

Aryl poked it into the net. “We don't waste a drop,” she told the Oud. “We must have more than you send us!”

It reared and fell silent. A few lower limbs fidgeted. Throughout the clearing, other Oud stopped moving, as if she'd said something remarkable. Well, not all. One vehicle ran into the carts towed by another, both drivers unconcerned by the collision. But otherwise, she felt their attention. Eyes or not.

What had she said?

“ ‘More than,' ” the Speaker said at last. “Why?”

“To grow food.” Oud lived with Tuana, who'd been farmers. The Grona, also neighbors to Oud, planted fields. The concept couldn't be new to this one, Aryl thought, exasperated.

“Not fill courseways.”

Courseways. That was what the Tikitik called the shallow stone-lined ditches that crossed the valley floor. The only value they had, so far as Sona's Om'ray could tell, was to deter rock hunters, who avoided them.

Because in the past they had filled with water.

Water the Oud clearly didn't want them to have. Was this why it had gone back on its promise, that Sona would have the greater share? Had it realized—or been told by other Oud—what might happen?

What the connection might be—if there was one—she had no idea. Aryl drew herself up and lifted her pendant. “As Speaker for Sona, I promise we won't fill the courseways if you return more water to the river.”

“Not fill if not water more than.” The creature managed to sound smug.

The not-
real
were different, not stupid. She usually didn't forget, having Marcus as an example.