The Faded Sun Trilogy (106 page)

“It is very beautiful,” Melein said, and passed it back at once the same route it had come. “So are live ones. What is that to me?”

“It is an elee’s life,” said Abotai. “A sculptor spent his life to perfect that flower. Everything you touch . . . even to the stone-work under your feet . . . is the life of an elee, a perfection. Ele’et is a storehouse of all the millions of years of the meaning of Kutath, not alone of elee.
You
are here, wrought in stone, written in records, as we are.”

“You are generous, then. A manner of pan’en, a holy thing. We shall tread lightly on it, this stonework. But we care nothing for it.”

“It is all here,” said Abotai. “All the goodness of the past. All perfection. Saved.”

“For whom?” Melein whispered. “When the sun fades and the last lake of the last sea is drunk, and the sand is level . . . for
whom,
mother of elee?”

“For the Dark,” said Abotai. “When the Dark comes . . . and all the world is gone . . . these things will stand. They will be here. After us.”

“For whom?” Melein said yet again. “When the power fades, when there is not even a lizard left to crawl upon your beautiful stones—what is the good?”

“The stones will be here.”

“The wind will erode them and the sand will take them.”

“Buried, they will survive any wind that blows.”

“Will it matter?”

“They will exist.”

Niun drew in his breath, and there was a murmuring in the Kel.

“Is that the end,” asked Melein, “of all the races and the civilizations, and the dreams of the world, to be able to leave a few stones buried beneath the sands, to tell the Dark that we were here? Leave us out of your pan’en, she’pan of elee. We want no part of it. Consumer of the world’s substance, was it this, was it this for which you ate
all the world and let the ships go . . . to leave a few stones to say that you were here?”

“And what gift do you leave?” Abotai pointed to the kel’en by a serpent pillar, at Duncan. “
That,
and the beasts? Aliens, to come here and see these things, and steal them, or destroy them?”

Duncan had looked up, and for a moment, a brief moment, he was back with them, a touch of pain in the dus-sense.

“He,” said Melein in a still voice, “is more to Kutath than you, or your children, or the fine trinkets you have made to amuse the Dark. You gave me a flower in stone to touch, and it was the life of an elee. Duncan, kel’en, shadow-at-my-door . . . come here. Come here to me.”

No,
Niun pleaded with her in his mind, for Duncan had borne enough, had more yet to bear; but Duncan rose up and came, and sat down again at Melein’s feet, his dus settling disconsolately against him. Melein set her hand on his shoulder, kept it there, while Duncan lowered his head. “He is not for your-touching,” Melein said. “But he is
our
gathering, elee she’pan, and far more precious than your stone flower.”

“Abomination!”

“There are builders and there are movers, mother of elee; and in the great Dark—the builders have only their stones.” She touched Duncan’s shoulder, rested her hand there. “We went out, to find a way for all to follow. The great slow ships in which generations were born and died . . . took Kutath as far as our generations could reach; there was no hope, so few the ships, so many those left behind, on a world with no means left for ships—your doing, elee. But the ships of humans, that leap the Darks so blinding-swift—one such, only one: and perhaps eyes will live that will
see
these pretty stones of yours. And desire them. And scatter them, perhaps, that all the universe will wonder at the hands that made them.”

“No,” Abotai hissed.

“Then close your eyes, mother of elee. You are bound to see things you will not like at all. We do not serve to your service any more. And first, a ship, ai, kel’en-my-brother’s-brother?”

Duncan looked up. The edge of his veil was damp and his eyes filmed. “Aye,” he said.

She bent and kissed his brow. “Our Duncan,” she murmured, and whispered: “If Eves of humans come into
our hands, take or give: I pass them to you. I do not ask more of you than the People need. And you will not do less.”

“She’pan,” he, replied.

Time passed, that the elee murmured together in the edges of the hall, that elee brought food and drink, and offered to them; but they were not guests, and would not take. Elee ate and drank; those of the People that hungered, drew what they needed of their own supplies, and if cups of water tempted them, pride forbade, and the law. They took nothing, not one.

And suddenly it came, the machine voice out of the other hall, advising them of movement in the skies of Kutath. Melein sprang up, all the People rising. “Stay,” she bade them, and went with Sen only; and in the frightened whispers of the elee, the Kel settled back again.

“It has come,” Niun said, hearing from the other room the advisement that it moved their way. He reached out, touched Duncan’s sleeve. “Sov-kela?”

The void in the dus-sense filled, slowly, remarkably calm.

“We ought to go out there,” Duncan said. “Not have them come in among elee; no knowing what could result of that. I should be out there, myself.”

“So,” Niun agreed.

“And you. If you would.”

“I shall ask that,” Niun said. Other dus-sense came to them, Taz, anxious and concerned; Rhian, who moved to join them and sank down on his heels, silent, solid.

Ras came. “Are you well?” she asked, touching at Duncan’s arm; and Duncan murmured that he was. Strange, Niun thought, that there was affinity between these two, but there was; and Hlil drew near, who had no love of tsi’mri things . . . but he had lost his distaste regarding Duncan. Taz moved to them.
Always so,
Niun thought,
on Kesrith, that we and the beasts sat together; one never wondered there, whose was the need.
There was a numbness, a blessed lack of pain; the slow song of dusei—then disturbance, a sense of distance, of looking heavenward.

“The wild one,” Duncan murmured. “It warns us. We have to go out now. We have to go.”

“Not all,” Niun said. “You and I. A few hands of others. I want some dusei left here, for safety.” He rose up, hastened unbidden to the machine hall, stood there an instant until Melein turned her face to him.

“I set it in your hands,” she said, “and Duncan’s. They are coming in.”

*   *   *

Elee watched them in their passage through the halls. The kel’ein ignored elee in their haste, hands empty of weapons; and Duncan spared them only an anxious glance, white, blue-eyed faces which stared at them forlornly and listlessly and perhaps . . . perhaps had self enough left to worry for their own brief lives and not for their treasure. He shuddered at them. They shrank away in equal terror whenever a kel’en brushed close to them.

And when it was clear they meant to go out, a frightened group of the jewel-robed citizens held up hands to stop them, hastening to show them a door that they might use, well-hidden in a trio of carved and living stones.

“They are jealous of their glass walls,” said one-eyed Desai, when they were out in the dark and free. There was a muttering of laughter, for mri hated barriers, borders, and locked doors. The way that they had come in, letting the wind into the halls . . . that was a satisfaction to them, mri humor, equally grim.

Dawn had begun; it was a logical time for meetings, and the logical place was before them, the wide expanse of sand between the city and the carved pillars: room enough there for landings. Duncan walked, and Niun stayed beside him, with the others at his back, nothing questioning. The sand ahead writhed and rippled with life which fled the ward impulse of their two dusei. And when they had come most of the distance he stopped to wait.

Niun stood close, having moved between him and the wind. Desai did so from the other side, setting a hand upon his shoulder; and the ja’anom, for they were mostly ja’anom in the company, stood as close as they might, as if to shelter him, caring for him as for a child. He was always colder than they, and they seemed to realize his tendency to chill.

Sometimes, Niun had taught him early, a kel’en might find himself regretting friendships out-of-House, caught in a tangle of obligations and debts: best never to form them. When one did, there was one clear law, one
service above other services, and that was the she’pan’s will; if one was mri, one believed that: There were two lights in the sky, brightening steadily out of the north.

*   *   *

“Shuttle’s aboard, bay one,” the secretary reported.

Koch took note of it, impatient, more interested in the flow of data from
Santiago,
which had moved closer to Kutath, within the critical limit Regul visitors aboard were not to his taste; not now. They were here and they had to be welcomed. Averson would be coming up at any moment, to handle interpretation where needed. He had prepared information to satisfy regul curiosity and quiet their fears. Degas was scanning what further materials Averson planned to send the allies to be sure they were clean and clear of sensitive items. That was a hasty job, and critical. And it had to be ready; with regul on the ship, they were out of time.

He reached for the panel, coded in Degas’s office.

And suddenly alarm lights flashed red.

“Sir,” the bridge cut through. “Damage to landing bay one.”

He stabbed the reply button, ignoring other lights which began to flash on his board, an urgent pulse from Degas’s channel, the muffled babble of information from the operations contact. “The regul shuttle? Was it involved?”

“Yes, sir; we don’t know details, we don’t get com down there; the whole bay is breached. Casualties undetermined. Cause undetermined. Crash team is on its way, and med and security. The section sealed.”

“Sir,” Zahadi’s voice overrode: “
Shirug
is moving our way.”

Panic slammed into him.
Fire,
instinct advised him, xenophobic; polities was more cautious. “Get in touch with them,” he said. “Advise them keep clear. Advise them we’re doing what we can with the shuttle and they’re to stay back.”

A moment passed. He opened contact with Degas. “Take charge in-ship,” he said, and broke off. His eyes were on scan, where each sweep jumped them nearer. There was a tiny blip out of
Shirug
’s front, a shuttle,
flea-sized between the warships.

They were not stopping.

“Bai,” said a regul voice suddenly. “This is youngling Ragh, favor, bai. What is the situation? What has happened to the shuttle? What is the extent of damage?”

“Stand off,
Shirug.
Stand off at once. We don’t know what has happened down there yet. We do not permit any closer approach. Stand off or expect strong action.”

“Were there deaths, bai Koch? What of casualties?”

Koch darted a glance aside to scan, stabbed in a code for
Santiago.
RECALL. RECALL. CODE RED. “We are determining that now, youngling. Who is in command of
Shirug
? Was bai Suth on that shuttle?”

There was silence from the other end. The regul were at the limits of their shield; if they came closer,
Shirug
itself would penetrate that critical perimeter; it was fire or permit approach. The shuttle was already inside it.

Peace or war, on a word, an act.

“Sir.” It was Degas, breaking through on red-channel. “Sir—”

“Back us off!”
Koch ordered Zahadi.
“Up shields!”

They hit maneuver without warning. Lights flashed everywhere on the boards.

“We don’t have full shielding,” Zahadi’s voice returned. “The damage in bay one—”

There was a shudder in
Saber
’s framework. Scan flicked to another image, pulsing warning. The shuttle within their perimeter was coming at the base line, at their kilometer-long midsection.

“Fire on the shuttle,” Koch ordered. “Fire!” And then a second look at rapidly altering scan.

All the instruments jumped; a shock quivered through frame and hull like the blow of a fist.

“Hit,” command relayed. “Damage—”

“Localize command!” Koch shouted into com, handing it to Zahadi entirely. He reached for the desk, for the restraint.

Scan went out.

Suddenly pressure hit, and red dissolved to white like the tearing of a film.

They were dead. He had time to know that.

*   *   *

The ships came in, one, and the other of them, in close sequence. The Kel regarded this with no outward show of emotion . . . this their first close sight of ships, and strangers who had struck at An-ehon, at them, and killed kin of theirs.

Two ships. They had expected one.

“Let me go out alone,” Duncan asked, received in reply a pressure of Niun’s hand on his shoulder.

“When they are in full sight,” Niun said, “then whatever you will. In this, you say what should be, sov-kela.”

The hatch of the first was opening. Men came down, with black scarves tied on their blue sleeves—strange combination to mri eyes; and masks which made them fearsome, like machines; last came a familiar woman, small and broad and wearing a gold scarf.

“Ai,” muttered the kel’ein at one breath, for none sent out sen’ein to a prospective quarrel; it was a good sign.

“She is Boaz,” Duncan said, “sen-second. I know her.”

He touched his dus, to bid it stay, walked forward on his own. The second ship had opened its hatch, and a black man stood alone in the hatchway; he did not know him, only the two: Boaz, and the man by her, whose tangled reddish hair he recognized despite the masks.

“Boz,” he said in meeting. “Galey.”

“Duncan,” Boaz said, and drew down her, mask to speak, breathing the thin air. “Do we get the meeting we came for?”

“Come with me; bring all your company with you.”

“We leave a guard,” Galey said.

“No,” Duncan said softly. “You do not. Lock no door to a mri. That is the way of things.”

“Do it,” Boaz said.

“Boz—”

“You can’t have it by human rules,” said Duncan. “Maybe you can speak to the she’pan; I will do as much as I can in that regard, and likely you can; but an argument will diminish your chances. Come. Don’t delay here.”