The January Dancer (45 page)

Once, while shopping for groceries, Bridget ban encountered one of the ICC guards who had questioned the Fudir and her on the hillside overlooking Dalhousie Estates. There was nothing to connect her with the Die Bold killings, but the ICC was now suspicious of anyone who had been near the compound.

But it was the subordinate, the Terran, whom she ran into. She saw that he recognized her, and her arms full of groceries at the time. But he only shook his head and said, “You were with him,” and passed on by. After that, however, only Greystroke ventured forth from their rooms.

The waiting game grew tedious, especially for Hugh, of whose face a rough approximation had been broadcast planet-wide. But even Greystroke and the Hounds found themselves chafing after two and a half weeks.

There was a common room at the hotel, and it had a ’visor for the use of the residents. Bridget ban and her people had been avoiding it, for fear of being influenced by the Dancer. But after they had read of Saukkonen’s firing by Lady Cargo and his consequent defiance, it became clear that neither of them had the Dancer. The Fudir must have carried it off to liberate Terra. They were discussing how they might penetrate the Confederacy, when another resident pounded on the door of Bridget ban’s room and hollered, “Ya gotta see this!”

It was not a ruse. Most residents of the Fourteenth were themselves people who did not want to be found, or who had simply lost themselves. Strangers in their midst were carefully ignored.

The ’visor was broadcasting a continuing story—“breaking news,” in the local dialect—and it was not clear at first what had triggered “the emergency cabinet meeting” or “the order to all vessels to stand down” or even “the hope for a peaceful resolution.” Surely, no rievers would ever dare a planet like Old ’Saken! Perhaps it was Megranome? There were small systems in contention among the Old Planets. Piracy, raids, annexations, coups de main, but there had not been a trans-stellar war since the affair between Valency and Ramage on the far side of the Silk Road.

“Here are the visuals once again,” the newsreader announced. “The ships emerged from the Abyalon road at are-four, Chelvecki time.”

Against the stellar backdrop, cameras on revenue cutters hunted and tracked and locked on.

“Ah,” said Greystroke. “That’s
Justiciar.
And
Victory.
And, and
Argos.
And—” He could not contain himself and whooped for joy. “And that’s
Hot Gates
herself!”

The cutter’s angle of view widened, jittered, then adjusted for the relative velocities of the tracked ships. It was the entire Sapphire Point Squadron.

Bridget ban could not believe it. Fir Li had abandoned his station!

Grimpen smiled. “I’m glad Dark-hound reads his mail.”

“It’s time,” Donovan told the Twisting Stone, “that you and I had a heart-to-heart talk. Should I call you ‘Stonewall’? It’s the name we best know you by. You’re no scepter, are you? You are the Big Cheese himself.”

The Stone made no answer.

“How long were you imprisoned before January’s ship happened to break down? Not as long as the legends say, that’s for certain. But then, you—or your rivals—had a hand in those legends. It was your folk who uprooted the old Commonwealth of Suns. Dao Chetty never had the bones to do something like that. You told us, and we believed it—only you couldn’t get that elusive hundredth percent.

“It must have been a long, tedious wait for you. How many other ships have slip-slid right past you? But then, how can we measure the patience of a rock?

“Excuse me, of a ‘silicon-based lifeform.’ Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I think carbon has more fun. We certainly get around more.”

He looked at the courier ship’s calendar. “I suppose Sapphire Point is unguarded by now. To secure a trans-stellar communicator? Yes, even Fir Li would take that chance. Did Grimpen notify Fir Li on his own, or did he come within your range during one of his jaunts? No, sending notice was proper Kennel procedure. You’re just taking advantage of it. Hanower and her partners are still patrolling Hanseatic Point. Too many questions, and I don’t have the paperwork.

“This way, we can slip right across St. Gothard’s Pass, no questions asked. Into the Rift. That must have been one honey of a war, Stone, to have wiped out so many suns. I hope none of them were Commonwealth Suns. I don’t mean to sound testy, but I hope they were all yours, or your rivals’, and you were all pretty much wiped out.

“But there must be something left. Something in the Rift, or you wouldn’t be trying so hard to get back there. And no ships would be missing.

“Well yes, it was obvious you were trying to reach the Rift, that you were the prime mover in all this. Do you know when I was certain? Not when January gave it up to Jumdar so easily. Oh, I can see now why he did. January wasn’t going toward the Rift, and Jumdar would have sent it straight to ’Saken, so you, hmm, ‘nudged’ him. It can’t be easy for a rock like you to work your will on the old carbon-based noodle.” He tapped himself on the head, and wondered if he was altogether himself. “You can nudge us, but you haven’t the words to command us.”

That struck him as funny. He would have to ask the Fudir about it the next time they met.

When he had grown serious once again, he said, “No, what convinced me at last was how easily Saukkonen let me have you. You realized that I had a better chance in a monoship—not of entering the Confederation, but of being ambushed and taken by your friends. So you ‘switched horses.’”

Donovan paused and shook his head. “The more I don’t want to do this, the more I know I must.” He placed the Stone in the copilot’s chair and sat facing it, not touching it. “I can’t let you do it, you know. I can’t let you bring it all back. The old legends are fun to read, but they would have been a horror to live through.”

Donovan left the Stone where it was—it was not, under the circumstances, a flight risk—and climbed belowdecks to the equipment locker. Old King Stonewall was trying to drive him crazy, but he didn’t know if any part of the courier ship was out of range.

He should just give up and take the Stone into the Rift. That would be the path of least resistance.

Until,
something
came out of the Rift. The people of sand and iron. Weaker maybe, but with undivided leadership this time. No rivals to kill each other off, or imprison each other on far-off planets.

He sighed and climbed back up the ladder to the flight deck. Perhaps if he didn’t actually touch it. There seemed to be some need for organic contact. Perhaps they could only work
through
organic beings. Wasn’t there an old legend about Anteus and Hercules? But the touch of the Stone was so soothing.

The irresistible object,
he reminded himself.
It’s trying to seduce you.
“I’ve been seduced by prettier ones than you,” he told the Stone.

He found a manipulating arm in the cargo bay. It was not a very large one of its kind, and he spent several hours—having grown unaccountably clumsy with the tools—to detach the outer portion. Then he carried it back to the flight desk.

He checked the settings on the pilot’s console.

Still right in the groove.

Unless that was only what King Stonewall wanted him to think.

He used the arm extension to pick up the Twisting Stone.

It was extremely valuable. There were collectors who would pay him handsomely for it.

He carried it to the airlock and set it inside.

It was a priceless relic of a long-gone people. Hell, it
was
a long-gone people…

The folk of sand and iron.

He closed the inner lock. Hesitated. Began to open it again. Then, with a curse, hit the pneumatics.

The pins shot into place and the air pumps began to evacuate the chamber. Donovan aborted the cycle. He wanted the chamber full of air.

When the outer lock swung open the air puffed out, taking the Twisting Stone with it.

“After all,” said Donovan, “this too is a home.”

It was two weeks down the Palisades Parkway from Hanseatic to Sapphire Point. For most of that time, Donovan watched the Twisting Stone tumbling away from the courier ship, maintaining the same forward velocity, but now with a lateral component. Now and then, he kicked up the magnification to keep it in view.

Donovan was traveling well under local-c, so the Stone passed through the first few lamina with no ill effect. But then it hit a layer of space whose local-c was less than its net velocity and in a wink it was gone. The ripple in space-time was minor. The next ship to pass would not even notice it.

Donovan continued to stare at the viewer, long after the impact site had fallen behind his craft. Then he resumed the pilot’s seat, checked that he was still in the groove, and wept.

“And so it ends on a
geantraí,
” the harper says. “A joyous triumph after all.”

They have reached the bridge over the Bodhi Creek. The bridge is high-arched, and well known from souvenir art; but it is late and it is dark and no one is on the bridge but the scarred man and herself.

“Is it?” says the scarred man. He has stopped and has leaned his arms on the bridge’s rail looking down at the gleaming black water. A streetlamp is reflected there, like a drowned moon. “How do we know that Donovan ‘scuttled’ the Stone? How does Donovan know it? It may be only what the Stone wanted him to believe.”

“It’s been years since all that happened.”

“Stones are patient.”

“Then at least let’s enjoy this interval before the People of Sand and Iron come again.”

“Unless they already have, and this is only what they want us to enjoy.”

“No,” says the harper. “I would know.”

The scarred man shrugs. “That’s the end of my story. It all happened long ago, and maybe it never happened at all.” He looks at her. “Have you found the beginning of yours?”

“Maybe. What became of them in the end?”

“Those are other stories, and they require other prices.”

“But surely you have some news of them. You told me that they had come here, to the Bar. Much of what you told me, you could only know if they had come back.”

“Perhaps I made those parts up.”

The harper shakes her head, but not in disbelief. “What about Hugh? Did he and Bridget ban not have an adventure together?”

“Did she tell you that? Then, they must have.” He looks at her carefully. His gnarled hand reaches out and takes her by the chin. “And then one day she never came back,” he says, reading the auguries in her face. “That’s your quest, isn’t it?”

“There was another, as well.” She returns his gaze—and he is first to turn away. “And Greystroke?” she asks.

The scarred man shakes himself. “No one has seen him lately.” And he laughs.

“The Fudir, then. Tell me more about him.”

“Donovan, you mean. He continued on into the Confederacy, because he did not know what else to do. His struggle with the Stone had drained his entire will, as if he were a battery completely discharged. The Secret Names questioned him, with their wonted gentleness. Then they did something terrible to his mind. They diced it and sliced it until there was no ‘I’ remaining, only a ‘we.’ Fudir and Donovan and…others.”

The harper sucks in her breath and she looks at the scarred man with pity in her eyes. “That sounds like a terrible story,” she says.

“It is.” He stoops, picks up a smooth, round stone and hurls it out into the waters of Bodhi Creek, whence returns a distant splash. “But it is a story for another day.”

In the Country of the Blind
^*

The Nanotech Chronicles

Fallen Angels
(with Larry Niven and Jerry Pournelle)

Firestar
^*

The Forest of Time and Other Stories
^*

Lodestar
^*

Rogue Star
^*

Falling Stars
^*

The Wreck of the River of Stars
^*

Eifelheim
^*

The January Dancer
^*

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

THE JANUARY DANCER

Copyright © 2008 by Michael Flynn

All rights reserved.

Map by James Sinclair

A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
175 Fifth Avenue
New York, NY 10010

www.tor-forge.com

Tor
^®
is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Flynn, Michael (Michael F.)

The January dancer / Michael Flynn.—1st ed.

p. cm.

“A Tom Doherty Associates book.”

ISBN: 978-0-7653-1817-6

1. Future life—Fiction. 2. Antiquities, Prehistoric—Fiction. I. Title. PS3556.L89 J36 2008

813’.54—dc22

2008029772