Titan (GAIA) (25 page)

When asked what he’d been doing, all he would say was “surviving.” Cirocco didn’t doubt that, but wondered just what he meant by it. He brushed off his own experiences in sensory deprivation, saying he had been worried at first but calmed down when he understood the situation.

Cirocco wasn’t sure she knew what he meant by that, either.

At first she was happy to have someone who seemed as minimally affected as she had been. Gaby still moaned in her sleep. Bill had gaps in his memory, though it was returning slowly. August was chronically depressed and verging on the suicidal. Calvin was happy but wanted to be alone. Only she and Gene seemed relatively unchanged.

But she knew she had been touched by mystery during her stay in darkness. She could sing to the Titanides. She felt more had happened to Gene than he was talking about, and she began to look for signs of it.

He smiled a lot. He kept assuring everyone he was okay, even when no one asked. He was friendly. Sometimes it was too hearty, but other than that he seemed fine.

She decided to find him and try once more to talk about the missing two months.

She liked Titantown.

It was warm under the trees. Since the heat in Gaea came from the ground up, the high vault acted to trap it. It was a dry heat; by wearing a light shirt and no shoes, Cirocco found her body cooled itself at peak efficiency. The streets were pleasantly lighted with paper lanterns that reminded her of the Japanese. The ground was hard-packed earth, moistened by things called sprinkler-plants that sprayed mist once per revolution. When that happened it smelled like a summer night’s light rainfall. Hedges were so crusted with flowers that petals fell from them in a steady rain. They grew quite well in perpetual darkness.

The Titanides had never heard of urban planning. Dwellings were scattered haphazardly on the ground, under the ground, and even in the trees. Roads were informally defined by traffic. There were no signs or named streets, and a map of the town would soon have been covered with corrections as new homes were grown in the middle of the road and pedestrians trampled their way through hedges until a new equilibrium was established.

Everyone had a cheery song of greeting for her.

“Hello, Earth monster! Still balanced, I see.”

“Oh, look, it’s the two-legged oddity. Come and feast with us, Sheer-ah-ko.”

“Sorry folks,” she sang. “Got business. Have you seen C-sharp Meistersinger?”

It amused her to translate their songs that way, though in Titanide, monster and oddity held no insult.

But the invitation to feast was a hard one to turn down. After two months of raw meat and bland fruit, the Titanides’ food was too good to be true. Their cuisine was their greatest art form, and with a few minor exceptions the humans could eat anything the Titanides could eat.

She found the building she called City Hall more by luck than design, stopping frequently to ask directions. (First left, second right, then around the … no, that was blocked last kilorev, wasn’t it?) The Titanides understood the layout, but she didn’t think she ever would.

It was City Hall simply because Meistersinger lived there, and he was the Titanides’ closest approach to leadership. Actually, he was a warlord, but even that was limited. It was Meistersinger who
led the reinforcements on the day of the battle with the angels. Since then, he had behaved like everyone else.

Cirocco had meant to ask if he knew where Gene might be found, but it was not necessary. Gene was already there.

“Rocky, so glad you could drop by,” he said, getting up and putting his arm over her shoulder. He kissed her lightly on the cheek, which annoyed her.

“Me and Meistersinger were just talking over a couple things you might be interested in.”

“You were … you can speak to them?”

“His phrasing is atrocious,” Meistersinger sang, in the difficult aeolian mode, “in the manner of the Crian peoples. His voice will not settle decently, and his ear is more suited to the … shall we say unmodulated words of your own pipes. But we can sing together, after a fashion.”

“I heard some of that,” Gene sang, laughing. “Thinks he can talk over my head, like spelling words in front of a baby.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before, Gene?” she asked, searching his eyes.

“I didn’t think it was important,” he said, waving it off. “I got a dose of what you got, but it didn’t take so well.”

“I just wish you’d told me, that’s all.”

“I’m sorry, okay?” He seemed irritated, and she wondered if he had meant her to know. Surely he didn’t think he could have concealed it much longer.

“Gene has been telling me many interesting things,” Meistersinger sang. “He has made lines all over my table, but they make little sense to me. I would understand, and pray that your superior song might clear away the darkness.”

“Yeah, Rocky, you take a shot. I can’t get this dumb son-of-a-donkey to see it.”

Cirocco glanced sharply at him, relaxed when she recalled Meistersinger knew no English. She still thought it bad mannered and childish. The Titanide was anything but stupid.

Meistersinger was kneeling beside one of the low tables the Titanides preferred. He had dull orange fur a few centimeters long, with only his face bare. The skin was chocolate brown. His eyes were light gray, set in a face that had at first seemed identical for Titanides, but now seemed to Cirocco to have as many variations as human faces. She could now tell one from another without reference to coloring.

But the face was still a female one. She could not shake that cultural conditioning, even when the penis was visible.

Gene had used skin paint to draw a map on Meistersinger’s table. Two parallel lines ran east and west, and other lines cut the space between into rectangles. It was the inner rim of Gaea, spread out and seen from above.

“Here’s Hyperion,” he said, jabbing with a paint-reddened finger. “On the west, Oceanus, on the east … what did you call it?”

“Rhea.”

“Right. Then comes Crius. There’s support cables running here, here, and here. Titanides live in east Hyperion, and west Crius. But there are no angels in Rhea. Do you know why, Rocky? Because they live in the spokes.”

“What’s this about, anyway?”

“Bear with me. Make him understand, will you?”

She did her best. After several attempts, he looked interested and put one orange-nailed finger near a dot in west Hyperion.

“This, then, would be the great stairway to heaven near the village?”

“Yes, and Titantown is next to it.”

Meistersinger frowned. “Why do I see it not?”

“I got that,” Gene said, in English. “’Cause I’ve drawed it not,” he sang. With a flourish, he made another dot beside the larger one.

“How will these lines kill all of the angels?” Meistersinger asked.

Gene turned to Cirocco. “Did he ask why I’m drawing all this?”

“No, he asked what this has to do with killing angels, and I’d like to add a question of my own, which is,
what in hell are you doing?
I forbid you to go on with this discussion. We can’t aid either side of two warring nations. Didn’t you read the Geneva Contact Protocols?”

Gene was silent for a moment, looking away from her. When he looked back, he spoke quietly.

“Don’t you remember that slaughter, or did you really miss it all? They got wiped out, Rocky. Fifteen of these jackasses jumped. All but one died, and so did two more that were with you. The angels lost two, plus one wounded.”

“Three. You didn’t see what happened to the third.” It still made her sick to think of it.

“Whatever. The thing is, it was a new tactic. The angels hitched a ride on top of the blimp. At first we thought the angels had made an alliance with the blimps, but it turns out the blimps are upset, too. They’re neutrals. The angels got aboard during a storm, so the blimp thought the extra weight was just water. He gains a couple tons when it rains.”

“What’s all this ‘we’ stuff? Are you making an alliance? You don’t have that power.
I
do, as ship’s Captain.”

“Maybe I should point out that your ship is gone.”

If he had meant to wound her, his aim could not have been better. She cleared her throat, and went on. “Gene, we’re not here as military advisors.”

“Hell, I just thought I’d show them a few things. Like this map. You can’t plan strategy without a map. They’ll need some new tactics, too, but—”

Meistersinger made the high whistle that served as a throat-clearing sound. Cirocco realized they had been ignoring him.

“Pardon me,” he sang. “This drawing is a fine thing indeed. I will have it painted on my chest at the next tri-city jamboree. But we were speaking of ways to kill angels. I would be pleased to hear more of the gray powder of violence you mentioned earlier.”

“
Je
-zus, Gene!” Cirocco exploded, then controlled her voice. “Meistersinger. My friend, whose command of your songs is poor, must have expressed himself badly. I know of no such powder.”

Meistersinger’s eyes were bland pools. “If not the gray powder, then speak to me of the device for hurling spears into the air farther than the hand can throw.”

“Again, you must have misunderstood. Bear with me for a moment longer, please.” She turned to Gene, trying for a calm front. “Gene, get out. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Rocky, all I want to do is—”

“That’s an order, Gene.”

He hesitated. She was trained in hand combat and had the longer reach, but he was trained, too, and had more strength. She was far from sure she could beat him, but got ready to try.

The moment passed. Gene relaxed, then slammed his palm on the table and stalked from the room. Meistersinger had followed it with eyes that missed nothing.

“I’m sorry if I caused bad feeling to flow between you and your friend,” the Titanide sang.

“It was not your fault.” Her hands were cold now that the confrontation was over. “I … see here, Meistersinger,” she sang in equals mode. “Which did you believe? Me, or Gene?”

“Face it, Rah-kee, you looked like you had something to hide.”

Cirocco chewed a knuckle while wondering what to do. The Titanide was sure she was lying, but how much did he already know?

“You’re right,” she sang at last. “We have a powder of violence, strong enough to destroy this entire town. We know secrets of destruction that I am ashamed to even hint at; things that could blow a hole in your world and leak the air you breathe into cold space.”

“We need nothing like that,” Meistersinger sang, looking interested. “The powder will do nicely.”

“I can’t give it to you. We brought none with us.”

The Titanide had obviously considered his song carefully when he finally sang again.

“Your friend Gene thought it possible to make these things. We are clever with wood, and the chemistry of living things.”

Cirocco sighed. “He’s probably right. But we cannot give you the secrets.”

Meistersinger was silent.

“My own personal feelings have little to do with the matter,” she explained. “Those who are above me, the wise ones of my kind, have said this should be so.”

Meistersinger shrugged. “If your elders command it, you have little choice.”

“I’m glad you see it that way.”

“Yes.” He paused, again choosing his song carefully.

“Your friend Gene is not so respectful of his elders. If I asked him again, he might tell me things that I need for victory.”

Her heart sank, but she tried not to let him see.

“Gene was forgetful. He had a difficult time in his journey; his thoughts wandered, but now I have reminded him of his duty.”

“I see.” He pondered again, offering her a glass of wine, which she drank gratefully.

“I believe I myself could construct a launcher of spears. A flexible stick, ends tied together with a thong.”

“Frankly, I’m surprised you don’t have it already. You have much more complex things.”

“We do have something like it which children use for games.”

“The nature of your war with the angels puzzles me. Why do you fight?”

Meistersinger frowned. “Because they are angels.”

“There’s no other reason? I had been impressed with your tolerance of other races. You feel no animosity for me and my friends, or the blimps, or the yeti in Oceanus.”

“They are
angels
,” he repeated.

“You don’t wish to live in the same land?”

“Angels would be unable to suckle their young at Gaea’s breast if they left the great towers. And we could not live clinging to the walls.”

“So you don’t compete for land or food. Could the reason be religious? Do they worship another God?”

He laughed. “Worship? You put your song together oddly. There is only one Goddess, even to the angels. Gaea is known to all races within her.”

“Then I just don’t understand. Could you make me see? Why do you fight?”

Meistersinger the warlord thought for a long time. When he at last sang, it was in a mournful minor key.

“Of all the things in this life, that is the one I would most like to ask Gaea. That we must all die and return to mud—I have no objections, no bitterness. That the world is a circle and winds blow when Gaea
breathes—these are things I understand. That there are times when one must go hungry, or when the mighty Ophion is swallowed in dust, or the cold wind from the west freezes us—these things I accept, as I doubt I could do a better job with these matters. Gaea has many lands to tend, and at times must turn her gaze elsewhere.